Those Who Hunt the Night
by Scooter Kitty
Summary: Halloween fic. There's a vampire in Vegas, but is she a good vampire or a bad vampire? And what does she want with Nick, besides the obvious? It's a little different, give it a try.
1. Chapter 1

9/18/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 1

My name is Mercy Trudeau. I'm an FBI field agent from New Orleans, although I tend to travel all over the U.S. I hunt down killers, but not just any killers. I hunt down the worst killers of all. I hunt vampires and I'm damn good at my job. What makes me so good? I am one, too.

Now, I know what y'all are thinking. What was a nice, southern vampire like me doin' in a town like Vegas? I was there hunting a bad-ass blood-sucker by the name of Jimmy Vero, liked to call himself 'Requiem'... God, I hate the Fledglings. They've all listened to too much Goth rock and watched way too many Hollywood horror movies. They think being a vampire is all about wearing black leather and lots of dark make-up. And never mind the Laws.

That's right, Children, vampires have laws, quite a few actually. Most of these laws deal with etiquette, you know, rules to govern how we vampires interact with each and our... prey, if you'll pardon the expression. For the most part, the punishments for violating these rules are fairly minor. There are only three major Laws: 1. No vampire shall kill another vampire. 2. No vampire shall interfere with another's hunt/prey/donor. 3. No vampire shall do anything which would bring unwanted attention onto his fellow Hunters. The penalty for breaking one of these three rules is death. And the executioner is me.

How did I get this glamorous job? I am one of the few First Born remaining. And what does that mean? Well, for one thing, it means that, unlike most of the vampires running around today, I was never human. I was born what I am. I made others into vampires, no one made me or my fellow First Born. Where did we come from, you rightly ask? No one truly remembers. It was, after all, a very, very long time ago, but like all cultures and races, we have our own creation stories. Whether there's any truth to them or not, who knows?

According to legend, long ago, back in the days of the Garden of Eden, Adam had a wife before Eve came along. This first wife was called Lilith. Now Lilith was not the shy, obedient type that Eve was. No, Lilith had attitude and she refused to submit to Adam. She also refused to accept the passive role in sexual matters. Lilith wanted to be on top. Frustrated by this assertive and uppity woman, Adam rejected her and drove her out of Eden. Lilith fled to a nearby cave, where she encountered many demons. Mating with them, she gave birth to demonic children whom she sent out to act as a plague upon the children of Adam and Eve. These children were us, the First Born, the Lilin. And we have been carrying out her orders ever since.

Now I, of course, don't remember any of this, it being so long ago and all, but I do believe it to be true. We all need something to believe in. If we have nothing to believe in, eventually we fade. That's why there are so few us First Born left, so many of us lost our way. But I have held true to the path. I remember who I am.

The name I call myself, Mercy, actually came from one of my fellow First Born. He used to refer to me as Clementis Fata, the Merciful Fate. I'm actually one of the gentle ones, at least with my prey. I rather like you humans and I generally don't believe in playing with my food the way some vamps do. I like a quick, clean kill.

Now, my boy, Vero, he was a messy eater, very sloppy. He wasn't satisfied with just biting his prey, no, he had to rip their throats out. I don't know, I guess you can get the blood out that much faster that way... tacky. Now, this sort of thing also tends to draw unwanted attention from the authorities. Hence my involvement, as covered by Law #3.

Again, I know what you're thinking. Don't teeth marks draw attention, too? Answer: apparently not as much. You'd be amazed at how much people really don't want to believe in vampires. The cops find a body or two with bite marks on the neck and they simply assume that the killer is someone pretending to be a vampire. But they start finding bodies with their throats ripped out and now you've got their full attention. They think 'psycho killer', who must be hunted down. They start pulling out all the stops.

Of course, my boy Vero hadn't just killed one or two people. No, he'd been leaving quite a trail of bodies throughout the southwest. So, in that instance, the FBI and the Vampire Council of Elders were in complete agreement. Vero needed to be hunted down. He'd been drawing entirely too much attention for our comfort. So, I found myself in Las Vegas, at some flea-bag motel, looking at Vero's latest crime scene.

Now, I suppose ya'll are wondering, does the FBI know what I am? No, they do not... Well, alright, most of them don't, and I'm sure that if push came to shove, they would officially deny all knowledge of us, but you'd be surprised at how many of us there are in... unexpected places. Remember, we've been around for a very long time. We've learned how to work your systems.

Oh, and one more thing, ya'll need to know. Contrary to popular belief, vampires can walk in sunlight. We don't like to, we avoid it whenever possible, but we can do it. Unfortunately during the daytime, we have no powers. We are essentially just like you... weak and helpless.

So, there I was on that "fine" Nevada morning in a tacky, little motel with a short, burly detective, looking at yet another young man whose throat had been recently gouged out. Did I mention that Vero had an affinity for very attractive men? If I didn't, he did. It was a shame really; the man had pretty good taste. Some of his victims had been rather hot... Well, if they hadn't been dead, of course.

"So, is this the same signature as the other murders?" the detective asked me.

"Yep, this is definitely Jimmy's work," I said, popping a stick of gum in my mouth. Yes, I know it's a childish habit, but what can I say? It was either chew gum or smoke. I had to assuage that oral fixation somehow. The smell of all that blood was making my mouth water. The sharp taste of the peppermint helped tone that down.

The young man was naked and sprawled out on the bed. His dark hair was tousled and his dark eyes were still open wide with surprise. Apparently he was not expecting to die that night. As my eyes continued to travel downward, I realized what a damn shame this man's death truly was. Underneath all that blood, he looked to have had a lovely body. As I said, Jimmy had good taste.

As Capt. Brass and I continued to stand over the body, the motel room door opened and someone entered. I didn't look up, transfixed as I was by the senseless waste before me. I heard the detective greet the new arrival.

"Hey, Warrick," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Day Shift's completely short-handed this week," I heard a low, masculine voice respond. "Uh, who's this?"

"Oh, Warrick Brown, this is Mercy Trudeau from the New Orleans FBI Field Office. Mercy, this is Warrick Brown from the Crime Lab."

I looked up and found myself staring into a lovely pair of unexpectedly green eyes... Well, hello Tall, Dark and Handsome.

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand to him.

The hand that grasped mine was large and warm and firm, but not too firm. I hate it when men feel they need to crush your hand as a means of proving their virility, or something. The man acknowledged me with a slight nod. As we stood, checking each other out, the door opened again and another excellent specimen of your species entered the room. So, what is Las Vegas, Land of the Beautiful Men? Where even the science geeks are gorgeous? And if that's the case, how did Capt. Short and Dumpy get his gig?

I had to admit that this newcomer was even better looking than the one still holding my hand. This one had short, dark hair and dark eyes framed by the most obscenely long, thick, black eyelashes that I had ever seen on a grown man. He had a ridiculously square jaw and from what I could see, a lean, muscular body. If he had been a little taller and broader, he could have just stepped off the cover of one of those silly, historical romance novels... Hey, Cowboy, is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

...Um, what was I talking about? Oh, yes, the crime scene... Anyway, I was introduced to this lovely newcomer and I was informed that he was Nick Stokes, also from the Crime Lab (as if his little black vest, which matched his partner's, wasn't a dead give away). Well, hello, Nick, please feel free to join the fun.

"So, the FBI is interested in this case?" he asked, his tone barely hiding his hostility.

"Apparently, Special Agent Trudeau, here, has been tracking our suspected killer across several states," Brass informed his colleague. "The FBI has jurisdiction."

"Look, Gentlemen, as you can see, I work alone," I told them. "I have no dark-suited entourage. Therefore, I welcome whatever assistance you wish to provide. I have no problem making nice with the locals. My only goal is to get Jimmy Vero off the streets. I don't care how that goal is accomplished and I don't particularly care who takes the credit for it."

The three men exchanged glances and I could tell that I had impressed them with my speech. They appeared to be ready to assist me with my case.

"So, we already have this suspect in mind then," Warrick said.

"Well, it's the same signature, same victim type. I think we can be fairly certain that it's my boy, Vero."

"Well, if this guy's mobile, how do we know that he hasn't already skipped town?" Nick asked.

"Oh, he's still in town," I said confidently.

"How do you know that?" Brass asked.

"Gut feeling," I said, smiling. "Besides, his pattern is to commit at least three murders before leaving town."

And while this was true, what I didn't say was that, like all predators, we vampires have extremely keen senses. I knew Jimmy was still in town, because I could still smell him. Unfortunately I couldn't track him by smell alone because, by now, he would have taken steps to mask his smell from me. He knew I was on his trail. After all, his senses were just as sharp as mine. I had to admit, for a Fledgling (someone who has only recently become a vampire), he was pretty slick. We'd been playing this little game of 'follow me' for far too long.

"I noticed the coroner's van out front. Has an M.E. checked the body yet?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah, M.E.'s been and gone, busy day already," Brass answered. "He pegged time of death at about 1 am, but he thought you might want to see the body. His boys will take it when you're done photographing it. The scene's all yours."

"Cool."

The detective and I watched as the two men went into action. With a minimum of words, they snapped latex gloves on their hands and quickly worked out their search areas. Warrick went into the bathroom, while Nick searched the room. After a moment, Brass and I left them to their work and went to the night manager's office to speak to her.

She was a small, skinny woman in her late fifties, with thinning, platinum blonde hair and tired, heavily lined eyes. Her skin had that yellowish, leathery look of old parchment and she chain-smoked non-stop while the detective and I interviewed her.

When asked to describe the man who had rented the room, she gave an accurate description of Jimmy Vero. "Big guy," she said, in a voice that was low enough to have come from the mouth of a linebacker and raspy enough to scrape paint. "Tall, broad, had greasy, black hair that fell almost to his ass. Had a mean look in his eyes. But the guy he was with... woo. I figured the hottie must've been a pro. Why else would he've been with that loser... I tell ya, all the really hot guys are gay. It's the story of my life."

Somehow I strongly suspected that the reason she couldn't get a man had nothing to do with them being gay. Reaching into an inner pocket of my suit jacket, I produced an artists' rendition of Vero. I showed it to the manager.

"Yep, that's him," she confirmed. "God, what an ugly cuss."

I wasn't sure how she felt she was in a position to pass that judgment, but I let it go, Brass was continuing with the interview. He asked the woman what time the two men had checked in.

"Oh, it was around 11, I'd say... yeah, 11. The news was on," she said, gesturing to the TV that hung, suspended from the ceiling in a corner of the lobby.

"Who found the body? And at what time?" I asked.

"Jessie, the cleaning girl, found 'im. It was around 10 am. Guests are supposed to be out by 9."

Nine? That's pretty damn early. Apparently there's no rest for the wicked here at the Rest Easy Inn. I asked if we could speak to Jessie.

"Yeah, hang on, I'll get her."

Jessie, the cleaning girl, was a sad-faced, young woman of about 20 years. She had wide, watery blue eyes and she reminded me of those pathetic drawings of the sad Bassett Hound puppies that were so popular in the '70's. Her lank, brown hair was pulled back in a limp ponytail and she also smoked non-stop while we talked.

"So, you're the one who found the body, eh Jessie?" Brass asked.

"Yeah, it was pretty gross," the girl said in a deadpan voice.

"Did you touch anything in the room?"

"Hell, no! I would've hurled if I'd gone in there... seriously."

"Thank you for that. Did you happen to see anyone leave the room before you entered or notice anyone hanging around?"

"Nah, I didn't see anyone."

"Alright, well, thank you."

Brass and I left the office and headed back to the room to check in with the pretty little boys. We found them both working in the main room. Tall, Dark and Handsome was going through the victim's clothes, while Cowboy photographed the body.

"Find anything interesting?" I asked.

"Not really," Warrick answered. "The killer obviously didn't stick around for long. We found plenty of fingerprints, but whether any of them will prove to be probative remains to be seen."

Going through the pockets of the jeans, he found a black leather wallet. Opening it, he pulled out the driver's license.

"Vic's name is Daniel Rosen," he said, reading the card then handing it to Brass. "No money or credit cards."

"Hey, Warrick, check this out," Nick said.

We all turned to see him kneeling on the right side of the body, closely examining the victim's hand. Warrick moved to join his partner.

Seeing Nick sitting beside the body, I was suddenly struck by how similar he looked to the victim. It also occurred to me that, in fact, Nick Stokes was a walking wet dream for Jimmy Vero. Hmmm, this could come in handy, I mused. After all, if Vero continued to elude me, I might need to use Stokes as bait. Now, I know, I know, I'm being a cold-hearted bitch, but well... vampire...

"What'd you find?" I asked, moving closer to look as well.

On the back of the victim's right hand was an image of a bat, stamped in black ink. It was obviously from a nightclub or bar of some sort.

"You know, I think this came from that blood bar that Catherine and I went to a couple of years ago," Warrick said, recognizing the bat symbol.

"Blood bar?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's a nightclub where everybody dresses in black, chews on each other's shoulders and drinks illegal absinthe."

"Oh, you're kidding, right?" I asked, although I had heard rumors of such clubs. But I had simply dismissed those rumors as entirely too silly to be true. Apparently I was wrong.

"No, I'm not," Warrick said, with a smile. "Maybe your boy, Vero's, been trolling for victims at this club. I think we should check it out."

"Oh, definitely," I said. "If nothing else, it should be an enlightening experience."

Although, now that I'd thought about for a few minutes, it actually made sense that Vero would hang out in a 'blood bar'. I mean, if all the humans there were pretending to be vampires, who would necessarily notice a real one added to the mix? It was sort of like hiding in plain sight. Again, I had to hand it to Vero, he was clever one and a lot more creative than many of the other vampires I'd hunted over the years, even vamps who were much older than him. This little hunt was actually starting to get interesting.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

9/29/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 2

I followed Capt. Brass back to the LVPD complex in my little rented Honda. When we arrived, we both checked in with our respective superiors. I was shown to a small empty office, which had a computer, where I could remotely check my e-mails and get my shit together, so to speak. I had flown up from Albuquerque that night. I hadn't had any rest for several days or nights. Granted a vampire of my age didn't require much rest, but it was nice to get every now and then. Yes, even we vampires needed to recharge our batteries occasionally.

After a couple of hours or so, Brass came to collect me and he escorted me through the maze of hallways to the Crime Lab. It was late afternoon by now. We found the pretty little boys in one of the numerous glass-walled labs, speaking with yet another pretty little boy (I swear, is there something in the water here in Vegas?). This one was younger than the other two and had rather spiky, dark blond hair.

The boys were busy going over the evidence they had collected from the scene, while Blondie seemed to be trying to convince his older counterparts to allow him to accompany them to the blood bar.

"Come on, you guys, I think I could be really useful in a place like that," he was saying. "I mean, what do you guys know about the whole vampire scene?"

"Well, for one thing," Warrick pointed out, "I've actually been there before. Have you? I mean, what do you know about the 'scene'?"

"Yes, what do you know?" I asked in genuine curiosity.

Blondie spun around in surprise. He obviously hadn't heard my approach. He gaped at me wide-eyed and struggled to find something intelligible to say. Brass took pity on the kid and stepped in to make introductions. Blondie, it seemed, was actually named Greg Sanders.

"Oh, so you're the FBI lady who's working with Nick and Warrick... cool," he commented.

"Yep, that's me, the 'FBI lady'. So, what was that you were saying about the 'vampire scene'...?"

"Oh, uh, you know... it's a hang out for the hard-core, blood-drinking types...," he mumbled. It was quite plain that the kid had no idea what he was talking about. He had simply been trying to BS his older friends and was completely unprepared to have someone actually call his bluff. "Oh, hey, I think I hear Grissom calling for me. I gotta go." He breezed past me and started for the door.

"Nice try, Greggo!" Nick called after him. The dark haired investigator smiled as the younger man made a rude departing gesture. All I could think was, damn, what a gorgeous smile.

"So, what have you two kids been up to?" I asked.

"Well, we ran all the fingerprints we collected from the motel through AFIS," Warrick said. "We got a match to your boy Vero."

"And he's been a very bad boy," Nick said. "He's got a hell of a wrap sheet, assault and battery, attempted rape, rape, and armed robbery are just a few of the highlights. I guess we can add multiple homicides to that list now."

"Yeah, Vero's a piece of work," I agreed.

Now, let me just explain here that another one of those pesky laws that I mentioned earlier, is that we're not allowed to simply go around 'making' other vampires. It's impractical, it's illogical, and, well, the act of making a vampire is quite physically taxing on both parties. For a time, both vampires are left completely vulnerable, never a desirable condition for any predator.

The laws state that each vampire can only make another vampire once every 100 years or so. Now, there are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but for the most part, it stands as stated. I mean, we couldn't have vampires running around willy-nilly, making more vampires, now could we? Food would start to become an issue. And with that many vampires running around, our secrecy would inevitably become compromised. And that we cannot have.

If our existence were to become general knowledge, there would be a public outcry to have us systematically hunted down and exterminated, something I, for one, would like to avoid. I rather enjoy my existence.

So, why some idiot vamp made a low-life like Jimmy Vero into a vampire is beyond me. I mean, what a waste of The Gift. The man had been a vampire for barely more than a year and already he needed to be executed. Now, I realize that sometimes when a person becomes a vampire, it changes them. Some people simply can't handle it. And I can understand how it could turn an already violent man into a homicidal maniac. But this is another reason why the decision to turn someone should not be taken lightly. It should only be undertaken after very careful consideration. There's also the fact that you're going to be stuck with this person for quite a while, so you might want to make sure that you can tolerate them.

You see, the laws also state that once a you have made this new vampire, you are responsible for them until they have demonstrated that they understand the laws and can fend for themselves. It's the duty of the Sire to make sure that the Fledgling is fully acclimated to his new life. Of course, this is also why vampires tend to be the more beautiful people of the populace. I mean, if you're going to be stuck with someone for that long, it may as well be someone who's easy on the eyes.

And speaking of easy on the eyes, I returned my attention to the pretty little boys, who were still speaking with Capt. Brass. My eyes lingered on Nick and I couldn't help thinking that he would probably make a lovely vampire. Hmmm...

"Mercy!"

"Hmmm, what?" I asked, turning to Brass, who was watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. He had obviously noticed my distraction.

"We were just discussing when would be a good time to check out this 'blood bar'," the detective said. "Nick and Warrick are about to head over to the morgue to check in with Doc Robbins about the autopsy. I thought we could head over to the club after that. It should be late enough by then."

"Yeah, sure, sounds good," I said.

"You want to sit in on the autopsy, too?" Nick asked.

"Oh, no, that's okay, thanks. I'd say the cause of death was pretty obvious and I'm sure you guys can let me know if the doc found anything unusual. Besides, I've got some more phone calls to make."

"You don't like autopsies?" Warrick asked, a teasing note in his voice. "What's the matter, Mercy, you're not squeamish, are you?"

"Are you trying to flirt with me, Mr. Brown?" I asked, matching his tone.

"No, Ma'am, I'm a married man," he said, displaying the wedding band on his left hand.

"Ah, well, your loss," I said, my voice full of mock regret.

"I'm sure it is," he said with a smile and still chuckling the two boys ambled out of the room.

Married, huh, I thought, watching them leave. That's too bad. And here I had such grand plans for both of those boys. Oh well, there's still Nick. And I suppose ya'll are wondering why a little thing like a wedding ring would stop a vampire from having her fun. I am, after all, an amoral, blood-sucking fiend, right? And while this is essentially true, I am not completely amoral. While I may suck people's blood and even occasionally kill them (when it's deserved), I am not a home-wrecker. I do have some standards.

Intending to return to my small, loaner office to make my calls and get a bit more rest, I started for the door, but hadn't even taken a full step when Brass caught hold of the sleeve of my jacket.

"A quick word with you, Mercy?" he asked.

"Sure, what's up?"

The stocky detective shifted a bit uncomfortably before he began. "I, uh, noticed you staring at Stokes..." he started.

"Yes, you have a problem with that?"

I could understand his attitude if I had pushed it with Warrick, but I had quickly checked and both of Nick's hands were bare. So, what was the man's problem? Was he going to tell me that Stokes was gay or something?

"Look, Nick just recently went through a very... difficult experience. He almost died. He may not act like it, but he's still pretty vulnerable emotionally. He's a good guy and I really don't want to see him get hurt. Am I making myself clear?"

"Got it," I said, definitely intrigued by this, but figuring now was not the time to ask for details.

"Good."

Letting the matter drop, we returned to the police station together. While Brass returned to whatever other duties he had to perform, I headed for the P.D. break room, where I found a small group of uniformed officers eating their dinners. Introducing myself and helping myself to some coffee, I sat down and chatted with them. They were mostly young rookies, who were eager to try and impress an attractive, female federal agent. It took me about twenty minutes to wrangle out the entire story of what had happened to Nick Stokes, the abduction, the burial, the fire ants and the dramatic rescue.

After thanking the boys for the coffee and conversation, I headed back to my little office. Along the way, I mulled over the information I had just learned. Interesting, this cast a whole new light on things. This could work to my advantage.

Back in the office, I took out my cell phone and called to check in with my 'other', non-FBI colleagues. After this, I lay down on the couch in the office to catch another hour or so of rest. It being autumn, the days were shorter and full darkness came sooner, I arose feeling refreshed, my full strength once more surging, ready to go.

Brass stopped by to get me shortly after this and we headed back to the Crime Lab to collect the boys. We all piled into Warrick's SUV, since he was the only one who knew where this nightclub was located. Brass rode shotgun, while Nick and I sat in the back. The boys told us the results of the autopsy on the way.

As one could imagine, the cause of death was exsanguination. The damage to the throat was so extensive that it had almost severed the victim's head. One interesting thing the doctor had noted was teeth marks on the vertebrae. But whether those marks were from a human or an animal was inconclusive.

"Have these teeth marks shown up on his victims before?" Warrick asked.

"Yep," I said.

"Does Vero travel with an animal?" Nick asked. "Like a dog or something?"

"Nope," I said simply.

An uncomfortable silence followed this as the three men... digested this information, pardon the phrase. Understandably, they were pretty quiet for the rest of the ride.

It was still fairly early when we arrived at the former warehouse where the club was located. The lot outside was only about half full. As we left the vehicle, we decided that only Brass would go in armed, as he was the only one who could keep his weapon concealed under his suit jacket. I wanted for us to blend in as much as possible.

I was wearing a black pant suit and I left my jacket in the car. I was wearing a snug, red tank top underneath. I glanced at the boys. Nick was wearing black chinos and a light gray, button-down shirt. Warrick was wearing jeans and a baggy, dark blue sweater. We looked pretty conservative, but probably wouldn't draw too much attention. At least we were all wearing dark colors.

Brass, on the other hand, was going to stand out like a cat at greyhound race. At least his suit was black, so he had a kind of undertaker vibe working for him. But considering the man's age, he was going to stand out regardless of what he was wearing. Everything about the man screamed, 'Cop in the house!'

We all had to flash our respective badges and IDs before the beefy bouncer at the door would allow the detective to enter and retain his weapon. Once inside the dimly lit club, Brass herded us over to a corner where we could plan our next course of action.

"Okay, we're just here to try and locate our suspect," he said, his voice raised somewhat, so he could be heard over the pounding PA system, which was currently blaring Rob Zombie. "I don't want anybody trying to approach him. If any of you spot him, let me know and I'll call for back-up. I repeat, do not try to approach him. Everybody got that?"

He gave both of the boys hard looks and they both nodded obediently.

"That goes for you, too, Mercy," he said, turning his attention to me.

"Yes sir," I said quickly. These instructions were fine with me. I certainly wasn't going to be confronting Vero in a crowded nightclub, filled with witnesses. But just knowing for certain where his hunting grounds were would help me track him later.

We decided to split up. Nick and I would cover one end of the club, while Warrick and Brass would cover the other end. Stokes and I spent the next hour or so, mingling with the club's patrons and discreetly showing them the drawing of Vero. Several people confirmed having seen the big man at the club the night before, but no one had seen him yet tonight. This last bit wasn't news to me. If Vero had been in the club, I would have known it.

As the night progressed, the club began filling up. Generally speaking, I try to avoid crowded places. The press of all the warm bodies and the smell of so much potential food was distracting. My mouth was beginning to water and I had this incredible urge to bite something. The proximity of one particularly desirable body so close to mine, was certainly not helping matters either.

Finally, I turned to said desirable body and asked, "Do you have any gum, by any chance?"

"Yeah, actually I do," Nick said. Digging into a pocket of his chinos, he produced a half empty pack of gum. He handed it to me.

I glanced down at the package. "Bubblegum?" I asked in amusement.

"Yeah, so?" he asked, his tone slightly defensive, daring me to comment further.

I smiled, but said nothing. Good Lord, could this man be any cuter? I handed the pack back to him and popped the chunk of gum into my mouth. Mmm, watermelon flavored.

We were standing with our backs against the rear wall of the club, watching the sea of writhing bodies on the dance floor before us. I shook my head in silent amusement at all the black leather, spiky, black hair and dark make-up. Is this what they really thought vampires looked like? Most of us liked to avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves. It was always so much easier to stalk your prey if you didn't announce what you were to them. Please, pay no attention to that scary-looking man in black creeping up behind you... Honestly, you Breathers were so silly sometimes.

I don't know how long we had been standing there before I became aware of a slight tingling sensation creeping up my spine. I probably should have been aware of it sooner, but the presence of so many people was distracting my attention. That tingling sensation let me know that I was in the vicinity of another vampire. We tended to be a fairly territorial lot and liked to keep track of where each other's hunting grounds were, in order to avoid... hard feelings. In one of my earlier phone calls, I had learned that there were no other vampires currently claiming the Las Vegas area, so this had to be Vero.

Stepping away from the wall, I walked out to the edge of the dance floor. There was a narrow walkway, or balcony which ran around the perimeter of the large club, about ten feet above the ground. Several people were standing, leaning against the railing of this balcony, watching the dancers below. Looking up, I slowly turned around, scanning the balcony. Standing in the shadows in one corner of the balcony, I just caught sight of an even darker shadow, looming behind the people at the railing.

Was that Vero? I couldn't tell, but just in case, I ducked my head before he could catch sight of me and headed back to where Nick was waiting for me, a confused look on his face. Gesturing him closer, I leaned in to speak into his ear. With the addition of all these people, the volume level of the club and increased dramatically.

"Go over to the bar and get a drink," I told him.

"What, why? I can't drink. I'm still on duty."

"Just do it. I'll stay here."

With a shrug, Nick did as I requested. I moved closer to the dance floor to watch as the investigator crossed the large room to the bar, located just beyond the dance floor. Glancing up at the balcony, I looked to see if Vero would notice Nick and take the dangled bait.

Vero didn't move. He just stood where he was, ensconced in the protective shadows. Perhaps he hadn't seen the criminalist. Or perhaps he had become aware of my presence and was too wary of me to show himself. I couldn't be sure. I needed him to see Nick and show enough interest to make him lose his caution.

My thoughts were interrupted as Nick returned to my side, a glass of soda in hand. He leaned close to me and asked, "Was there a point to this?" He gestured to the drink in his hand.

"Maybe," I said. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

I moved several feet away from him and waited to see what Vero would do. Nick just stood where I had left him, looking awkwardly around and giving off an incredibly appealing, lost little boy vibe. If that didn't get Vero's attention, I didn't know what would.

I glanced up at the balcony again. Nothing, Vero still wasn't moving. What the hell? Was the man blind? Come on, Jimbo, what's the matter with you? There's a beautiful man, just your type, standing right there, all alone! What are you waiting for? Go on, make your move!

Nothing... damn it. I had decided that I would wait and give the other vamp a little longer, when I saw a tall, willowy woman with waist-length, dyed-black hair, in a black, leather mini-dress step up to Nick. 'Mortitia' smiled at the criminalist invitingly and said something which I couldn't hear over the sound system, even with my enhanced hearing. This was not going as well as I had hoped.

With a sigh, I headed over to rescue my temporary partner. Now, I am a very tall woman and not petite by any definition and I am not averse to using my size as a means of intimidation. Stepping up to the Goth chick, I leaned over her and fairly growled at her.

"Back off, Princess," I snarled. "That's mine."

She gave a terrified, little squeak and quickly scurried off. Smart girl.

"What did you say to her?" Nick asked, looking impressed.

I shook my head and waved away his question. I was starting to loose my patience.

"Let's go find Brass and Warrick," I said and started to lead the way through the crowd to the area where we had left the other two men.

We found them seated at a small table in a slightly quieter corner, watching the people entering the club and looking bored. Pulling up chairs, we joined them.

"You guys see anything?" Nick asked.

"No," Warrick said.

"Well, he's here," I said flatly.

"He is? How do you know?" Brass asked. "We've been watching the door all night. We didn't see him come in."

"I doubt he came in the front door," I said. "But he's definitely here."

"Well, where is he? I'll call for back-up."

"No, don't do that. I didn't actually see him and I'm not entirely sure where he is. I just know he's here."

"Okay, well, what do you want to do? You want to stick around for a while longer? Try to wait him out."

"No, we may as well take off. He knows I'm here. He's not going to show himself. But before we leave, I want to make a statement. You know, send him a little message."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Don't worry about it. You two just sit tight. Nick, you're with me."

Ignoring the detective's protests, I grabbed Nick's arm and started propelling him toward the dance floor. As we got closer to the mass of writhing people, the investigator managed to get my attention with his repeated attempts to pull out of my grasp. I stopped to look at him.

"I don't dance, especially not to this kind of music" he said, a slight look of panic in his eyes. "Just ask Warrick, he'll tell you. I'm too white and I'm too straight. I look like an idiot."

I smiled slightly and said, "Don't worry, you don't have to do anything. Just stand there and follow my lead."

With a hard tug, I yanked him out onto the crowded dance floor. Roughly pushing my way through the tightly packed dancers, I made my way to the middle of the floor, dragging my reluctant partner behind me. After thoroughly annoying several people, we reached our destination and I stopped, pulling Nick around to face me.

Conveniently at that moment, the club's DJ chose to slow things down considerably. The next song he played was the Bauhaus song 'Hollow Hills', a slow, spooky, atmospheric tune and many people left the dance floor. This suited my purposes just fine as it drew even more attention to Nick and myself. Vero could hardly miss us now.

Placing my hands firmly on Nick's narrow hips, I drew him tightly to me. With my hands guiding his movements, I began to slowly sway in time to the music. Once I felt that he had gotten the hang of the rhythm of the movements, I released him and reached up to begin unbuttoning his shirt.

This, of course, caused him to stop moving and he grabbed my hands. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Follow my lead," I repeated, pushing his hands away and continuing with my task.

Once I had his shirt unbuttoned almost to his waist, I pushed it back, exposing strong, bare shoulders and a lovely expanse of vulnerable neck. Seeing the mixture of embarrassment and anger in his eyes and knowing that any second he would try to pull away again, I firmly grasped the back of the head with my right hand and wrapped my left arm around his waist. I pulled him tight to me again and kissed him deeply.

Now, some of us vampires, particularly we Elders and First Born, have a limited ability to affect the minds of our victims. With physical contact, we can blur their most recent memories slightly, allowing us to drink from them without them remembering it later. This is precisely what I did to Nick during our kiss.

Still kissing him, I pressed him back, forcing him into an elaborate dip. Now under the influence of my 'spell', he was limp and passive in my arms. Breaking off the kiss, I pressed my mouth to his neck, feeling the steady, tantalizing beat of his pulse under my tongue. Abruptly, I bit down, reveling in the brief shudder that passed through his body and the slight groan that escaped his lips. I drank for several minutes.

As I had imagined, he tasted as delicious as he looked and breaking away from that embrace was one of the more difficult things I've had to do in quite awhile. With a quick lick, I cleaned away any lingering traces of blood from his neck and brought him back to an upright position. As I quickly pulled his shirt back up to cover his neck, he swayed slightly on his feet, his eyes still unfocused. I slid an arm around his waist and began leading him back to where we had left Brass and Warrick.

Many of the other dancers stepped aside and openly stared at us as we passed. I smiled smugly to myself. Yes, I'd say that little performance definitely got Vero's attention. There's nothing like a blatant challenge to get another vamp's hackles up. For all intents and purposes, I had just said to Vero, 'Look what I've got! You like? Come and take it away from me. I dare you.'

We found the detective and the other investigator waiting for us at the edge of the dance floor. During my little show, I had deliberately positioned my body so that they couldn't see exactly what I had been doing, but they had apparently seen enough. Brass looked furious. Warrick looked slightly concerned as he stared at his friend's somewhat vacant expression.

"Nick?" he called to the other man. "Hey, man, are you okay?"

"Hmm?" the Texan murmured, starting slightly as though waking from a dream. "What? Y-yeah, I'm fine."

"Well, you might want to..." Warrick said vaguely, gesturing to the other man's chest.

Nick looked down and realized that his shirt was still gaping open. With a slight, embarrassed gasp, he quickly buttoned it back up.

While the two younger men talked, Brass sidled up to stand beside me. He was practically radiating his anger.

"What the hell was that little display all about?" he demanded hotly.

"I told you. I was sending a message to Vero," I said.

"Oh? And just what message was that?"

"Well, that's between he and I. Trust me, he got the message."

"Yeah? Well, apparently you didn't get the message I tried to convey to you earlier," Brass said, with a quick glance at Nick.

"No, I got it. I just chose to ignore it."

"We'll talk about this later," he said, through clenched teeth.

"I can hardly wait." I turned to address the two younger men. "Come on, kids, let's go. Our work here is done, for the night anyway."

I led the way toward the exit feeling like I was floating a foot or so off the ground. I could almost feel Brass' eyes boring holes into my back like laser beams, but I didn't care. I was literally drunk with the feeling of Nick's blood singing through my veins. Hell, this was better than alcohol. This was better than drugs. I felt fabulous. I could get used to this.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

10/3/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 3

The ride back to the lab was very quiet. Despite my lingering euphoria, I wasn't in the mood to chat. My body was still too keyed up and tuned in to Nick's to be able to concentrate on conversation. Hell, it was taking all of my self-control to keep from launching myself at the man and pinning him to the bench seat.

Brass was still fuming in the front seat and I could actually hear his teeth grinding. The boys sat silent and uncomfortable, like two kids who know that Mom and Dad had a fight and are still mad at each other. The trip seemed to last an eternity.

Arriving back at the P.D. complex, I tagged along with the boys back to the lab, hoping to avoid the lecture from Brass. Apparently it worked. He left us and headed off toward his own office. The boys clocked out and Nick politely offered to walk me to my car. I had noticed that Warrick's demeanor toward me had cooled considerable in that last hour or so. Evidently he shared at least some of Brass' opinions of me.

Out in the parking lot, Nick and I arrived at my car. I turned to face him expectantly, hoping that, after our passionate kiss (which, thanks to me, was all he remembered) on the dance floor, he might invite me back to his home or at least out for a drink. Unfortunately no such invitation was offered. With a softly spoken good-night, he left me and headed for his own vehicle, which I noted was a black SUV.

I didn't return to my hotel room. I left the parking lot, but circled around and discreetly followed Nick to his house. I spent the remainder of the night sitting in my car outside the small house, watching for Vero.

After a few hour of this vigil, it was still fully dark, but dawn was only a couple of hours away. The lights were all off in Nick's house and the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful, a perfect example of slumbering middle-class America. I wondered how the neighbors would have reacted had they known that a vampire sat on their street.

I sighed in exasperation. I am normally a very patient hunter, but not tonight. I hadn't seen a glimpse of Jimmy, nor had I feel the tell-tale tingle up my spine. Where was he? Was he not interested in Nick? If Vero was going to strike, it would be soon, before dawn, before his powers started to wane.

The Fledglings were much more sensitive to sunlight than we older vamps. You see, unlike you Breathers, we get better with age. Our powers increase and we even become less dependent on blood to sustain us. I, in fact, only Fed once a month or so. And even then, it was little more than a drink, as I had done with Nick. Fledglings required much more blood than that to sustain them.

Usually my little drinks were enough to satisfy me for several weeks, but his time I found myself craving more. Even as I sat there, remembering the taste of Nick's blood, the feel of his flesh against my mouth and his body pressed to mine, I felt an overwhelming need to act, to break down his door and...

I needed some fresh air. Stepping out of the car, I decided I would do a little reconnoitering. Moving silently, I crossed the street and stepped onto Nick's small front lawn. I slowly circled the house, checking for any open windows, any trees or other hiding places close to the house. I found nothing amiss, but then I hadn't really expected to. I knew that Stokes' house had a security system. I saw him key in the code when he entered the house. I was just being overly cautious.

Making my way back to the front of the house, I paused near the bedroom window. As it faced the street, I had been watching it earlier. I had seen Nick's vague silhouette through the curtains as he'd presumably been getting ready for bed.

Overcome the sudden, powerful need to look at the sleeping man, I crept closer to the window. I crouched down beneath the window sill. There was a line of low shrubs here that would nicely screen me from the street, should any cars pass by. Slowly I raised myself up and peered into the room through the narrow gap in the curtains.

Positioning myself just right, I could see the man sprawled out on the bed, opposite the window. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from me. He had kicked the covers aside in his sleep and I was treated to quite an eyeful of smooth, bare skin, of long, strong legs, tight, round ass, and lovely, toned shoulders and arms. Even asleep, the man was beautiful.

Even now, I don't really know how long I stood there, watching Stokes, but when I next glanced around me, the first blush of dawn was beginning to pinken the eastern horizon. I gave my head a slight shake, trying to dispel the reverie I had slipped into. With morning approaching, I really did need to get away from Nick's window before one of his neighbors spotted me and called the police. With Brass already irked with me, I wasn't sure I could count on the captain to vouch for me, especially when he found out where I had been and what I had been doing.

I seriously doubted that Vero would show up this late. As a Fledgling, he would avoid the sun and hunker down for the day. Looking around to make sure that I wasn't being observed, I left the cover of the shrubs and returned to my car.

As I was about to climb into the vehicle, I noticed a slip of paper stuck under the windshield wiper. It hadn't been there when I left the car. Freeing the paper, I unfolded it and read the thick, heavy, block lettered script.

'What's the matter, Mercy? Did the pretty boy leave you out in the cold? That's too bad, maybe I should keep him company. Requiem.'

Vero! I fumed. Damn it! He was here, right under my nose and I was so busy obsessing over Stokes that I completely missed him! Damn it! I don't believe that I let myself get distracted like that. I've got to get my head back in the game or I'm going to be made a fool of by a goddamned Fledgling!

I was still fuming when my cell phone rang. With a sigh, I opened the car door and sat down in the driver's seat. I answered the phone with a weary 'hello.'

"Aw, you sound tired, Mercy, did I wake you?" came Capt. Brass' cold voice.

Remembering that I was supposed to have been sleeping, I endeavored to make my voice sound groggy. "Yes, you did. What can I do for you, Captain? Or did you call with the express purpose of waking me up?"

"As appealing as that sounds, no, I did have a reason. We found another body in another motel room, same signature."

I sighed. Vero must have come here directly from the motel. How did he find the house? Had he tracked me? I hadn't exactly been trying to mask myself from him, but most Fledglings weren't terribly adept at tracking. Apparently, Jimmy was even trickier than I had originally given him credit for.

Brass gave me the address of the motel and I said that I would be there as quickly as I could. I sat for a moment, trying to get a handle on my rather frazzled emotions. I glanced over at the house one last time. While I was looking, I saw the light come on in Nick's bedroom. Evidently he had just gotten a similar phone call. I resisted the urge to rush over and peek in his window again.

No, I admonished myself sternly, get your head back in the game. You have messed up enough already. With a supreme effort I forced myself to close the car door and started the engine. I drove back to my hotel to take a quick, cold shower and change my clothes before heading out to the motel Brass had indicated.

Arriving at the motel, I entered the room, to find Nick and Warrick already there, as well as a third man I didn't recognize. He was of average height and build, with heavily graying dark hair, and a neatly trimmed darker beard. He was handsome in a remote, academic sort of way. He looked as if he should have been standing at the front of a lecture hall, instead of beside a horrifically mutilated corpse.

And the body was a mess, even more gruesome than Jimmy's previous work. Apparently I wasn't the only one feeling a little frustrated after leaving the nightclub last night, or a few hours ago... whatever.

Nick paused in photographing the body and turned to me with a smile. "Hey, Mercy," he greeted me.

I returned the smile, but then had to look away quickly as my mind flashed back to the memory of him lying naked on his bed... I looked over at Warrick and smiled my greeting. He lifted his chin coolly in acknowledgment, but said nothing. The older man completely ignored my presence and continued to stare fixedly at the body.

This rather tense silence was broken as Brass entered the room. "I briefly spoke to the manager and he said the white Trans Am out front is the victim's," he announced. "We should get it towed back to the lab."

"Good idea," the Professor said, speaking up for the first time. He turned to address Stokes. "Nick, go call for a tow truck then stay with the car. When the truck gets here, go back to the lab and start processing the car."

"Okay," the younger man responded. He gave me a slight grin as he walked past me. Collecting his kit from where it lay near the door, he left the room.

"Warrick, why don't you go with Brass back to the manager. This place looks to be a little nicer than the first motel, maybe it has some kind of surveillance system," the older man said.

After the other two men had left, the Professor finally turned to me. His expression was cold and haughty. I half expected him to say something like, 'Ms. Trudeau, I'm very disappointed in your performance on your last exam.' He didn't, of course.

In fact, it was me who spoke first. "So I take it that you wanted to speak to me alone?"

"Yes, I'm Gil Grissom, the supervisor of the Graveyard Shift," he said.

"Special Agent Mercy Trudeau," I said, extending my hand.

He ignored that hand and continued to stare at me disdainfully. "Agent Trudeau, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your colleague, Agent Culpepper, a few years ago. I don't allow my CSIs to be used as bait."

"Excuse me?" I asked, feigning innocence (don't laugh).

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. I took the liberty of having the FBI fax over the case files for Vero. Those files included a victim profile."

Pulling out a manila file folder from the briefcase at his feet, he opened it and read from a sheet inside. "Victim profile for James Randall Vero: all victims have been very attractive, aged 25-35, dark hair, clean cut, athletic build. Did you think I wouldn't notice that this exactly describes Nick Stokes? Or that this victim resembles him?" he pointed to the corpse on the bed.

"Both Capt. Brass and Warrick told me about your little performance at the nightclub," he continued. "Brass told me that you said you were trying to send Vero a message. That message didn't have anything to do with Nick, did it?"

"Okay, yes, I did try to use Nick as bait," I said after a moment. "But obviously, it didn't work. He didn't bite. Apparently Stokes isn't Vero's type after all."

"Vero probably wasn't even at the club, for which you were incredibly lucky. You endangered my CSIs life and you didn't even have the courtesy to tell anyone what you were doing! What if Vero had come looking for Nick!"

"I was outside Stokes' house all night. Vero never showed. Obviously, he already had his hands full," I said, gesturing to the body.

Grissom sighed loudly and I could tell that he was only just managing to keep his temper in check. "You, all by yourself, were going to protect Nick from a psychotic serial killer?"

"Yes. With all due respect, Mr. Grissom, I've been at this job for a long time. I know what I'm doing and I don't need LVPD getting in my way."

Grissom's eyebrows rose so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Unfortunately, Ms. Trudeau, I cannot remove you from this case, as the FBI has jurisdiction, but I can remove Nick. As something comes up, I will be reassigning him to a different case."

"Fine," I said calmly.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have a crime scene to process," he said, gesturing to the door.

Apparently I was being dismissed. Deciding to hold my tongue for the time being, I left the room. Outside the motel room, I stood blinking in the anemic, early morning light. A few feet away, Nick was dusting the Trans Am's door handles for prints. Rather than stopping to chat with him, I returned to my car and drove to the LVPD complex. I spent the next few hours on my cell phone with my 'unofficial' contacts, trying to learn as much as I could about Jimmy Vero.

Normally I never bothered with this step. I could generally track down any vamp with only the minimal background information. I hadn't even bothered with that victim profile that Grissom had referred to. Of course, I had come to the same conclusion as the profile, without it. That was generally how I worked, by instinct and experience.

Unfortunately that approach wasn't working this time. Vero was proving to be trickier than I had given him credit for and I was finding myself increasingly distracted by the presence of Nick Stokes. This hunt was not going the way that I had planned. As much as I hated to do so, I was going to have to ask for some help this time.

I called Tristan who, like me, worked 'special cases' for the FBI. Yes, Tristan was a vampire as well. He and I had even occasionally worked together. After I got through to him on his cell phone, I asked him to get me the dirt on Vero. You know, the real dirt, the stuff that wasn't in the official files. The stuff I usually ignored.

He got back to me about twenty minutes later. "You know, I gotta say, I was pretty shocked to hear from you," Tristan said, apparently unable to resist giving me crap. "I mean, the great Mercy Trudeau is calling for information? Is the world coming to an end?"

"Yeah, yeah, real funny, Tristan, just give me the gouge."

"Hey, I don't get many opportunities to rag on you, so give me a break. Anyway, I can see why this guy is giving you trouble. He's pretty hardcore. By the way, when the Council contacted you to have you take him out, did they happen to mention who his Sire was?"

"No and I didn't ask. Why, who is it?"

"Was... Sophia."

Sophia... hmm, I know her. She's an Elder, very strong. That might explain why Vero was so good, he had good blood. The rule of thumb in the vampire world was, the stronger the Sire, the stronger the Fledgling.

"Wait a minute, why would Sophia share The Gift with a loose cannon, like Vero?" I asked. "She knows better than that."

"Good question. And the answer is, she didn't share The Gift. Vero took it."

"What?" I asked, stunned. "That's impossible."

"Evidently not. I don't know how he found out that she was a vampire, but he must have. He ambushed her during the day, when she was at her weakest. Then he dragged her off to his cabin in the swamp. Apparently he slit his own wrists, waited until he was about to pass out then slit her wrist and drank her blood. He drank her dry."

"You mean Sophia's gone? She faded?"

"Yeah, Sophia's gone."

Damn him, I thought, still in shock. I liked Sophia... Let me tell you Children something, it's a wonderful feeling knowing you are at the top of the food chain. It's one of those little ironies we love to rub your faces in. Ya'll think you're the top of the food chain, but really, it's us. But now that I was seeing those tables turned on me, I didn't like it one damn bit. Oh yeah, this animal was definitely going down.

"Why the hell didn't anyone from The Council tell me any of this?" I demanded abruptly.

"I don't know. Maybe they figured you didn't need to know. Maybe they thought if you had enough trouble with Vero, it would teach you some humility."

"Teach me humility?"

"You've stepped on a lot of toes over the years, Merce. You might want to watch your back."

"Thanks for the warning, Tris, and the information."

"No problem. Be careful, Mercy, despite his lack of years, this guy's no lightweight."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see that."

Hanging up the phone, I decided to clear my head a bit by checking in with the kids in the lab, you know, pretend I actually cared about all the evidence they were so meticulously gathering. As far as I was concerned, it was just busy work. The evidence was irrelevant, since I, of course, had absolutely no intention of taking Vero to trial. But it kept LVPD out of my way, while I did my job, which was tracking and executing Vero.

Arriving at the Crime Lab, I wandered around until I found a familiar face. Warrick was in a small room, filled with very expensive looking equipment, watching a monitor in the company of yet another pretty, little boy (where do they find them all? I'm beginning to think prettiness is a requirement for employment here). This new boy was young, Asian and very pretty indeed (in fact, he was a little too pretty for my personal tastes, but then again, I wouldn't have kicked him out of my bed for snoring).

"What are we looking at?" I asked, coming to stand beside Warrick, behind the pretty Asian boy.

"Uh, this is the surveillance footage of the motel lobby that the manager gave us," Warrick responded.

I turned to look at the monitor as well. They were fast-forwarding through several hours' worth of tape.

"Okay, it's coming up right here," the technician said. "This is what I was telling you about."

He paused the screen. It was showing two men approaching the front desk. One man, who was quite a bit shorter than the other, was obviously the victim. The frozen picture showed him quite clearly. The taller, larger man beside him, presumably Vero, was almost completely shadowed. He face was unrecognizable.

"See, look at that," the young AV tech said, pointing at Vero. "I don't know what's causing that shadow. I've tried every algorithm I can think of. Nothing will clear it up or bring out any more detail. I've tried filters, refocusing the pixels... nothing. I don't know what else to do."

"Hmm," Warrick mused, leaning closer to the screen. "Yeah, that doesn't make any sense. The vic is clear as a bell, but Vero's completely shadowed and, from what I can see, there's no reason for that shadow to be there."

"Exactly."

Warrick turned to me with a slightly sheepish expression. He seemed embarrassed that they couldn't provide the proof that the shadowy figure was Vero.

"Archie and I'll keep working on this," he assured me.

"Oh, just do your best," I said.

I could have told them what the problem was. You see, that old myth about not being able to photograph vampires is true, sort of. We can be photographed, just not very well. And by that, I don't mean that we aren't photogenic. I mean that something about us interferes with the film in the cameras. Digital cameras do a better job, but even they can't fully capture us.

I think it has something to do with our electrical fields. You see, the human body is basically an organic computer, controlled by the brain. The brain communicates with the body by means of electrical impulses. As a result, humans, and vampires, generate their own small electrical fields. With you Breathers, that field is fairly negligible. Ours seem to be stronger. I'm not really sure why. I mean, it's not as if we've ever done any studies on this or anything. This is just my theory. Anyway, I think our electrical fields interfere with the film in some way.

You should see the picture on my FBI ID badge. It's completely fuzzy. The technician who took the photo must have tried a dozen times to get the picture in focus. He finally just gave up and went with the best one.

"So, where's Nick?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Warrick gave me a hard look for a few seconds before answering. "He's in the garage, processing the vic's car."

Leaving the boys to chase their tails, I followed Warrick's directions to the garage. I found Nick and a young, dark-haired woman apparently just finishing up their work on the Trans Am. They were both in the process of stripping off their blue coveralls.

"Find anything interesting?" I asked.

"Not really," Nick answered, "a lot of fingerprints, a few hairs, but that's about it."

I nodded. The brunette and I eyed each other suspiciously. Noting this, Nick made the introductions.

"Mercy, this is CSI Sara Sidle. Sara, Special Agent Mercy Trudeau," he said.

We smiled coolly at each other and nodded our greetings. An uncomfortable silence settled around the three of us. I looked back at Nick pointedly. I was hoping to talk to him alone. Eventually the brunette got the hint.

"Uh, okay, I'll just go and start the reports on the car," she said. "You can look them over and sign off on them when you come in tonight."

"Yeah, okay, thanks, Sara."

"No problem. See you later." She gave me another cool nod then left the garage.

"Are you leaving?" I asked, my hopes lifting.

"Yeah, Grissom told me to go home when Sara and I finished with the car," he said, his tone slightly bitter. "Evidently I'm going to be reassigned to the first case that comes up, tonight."

Realizing this bitterness was directed at me, I said, "This is because of my little stunt at the nightclub, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Listen, I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to get you in trouble with your boss. Tell you what, how 'bout I make it up to you and buy you a drink?"

"Buy me a drink?" he repeated, glancing at his watch. "Mercy, it's noon."

"Oh, is it?" I said. "Sorry, my internal clock is so messed up. I don't know how you people work these screwed up hours." Okay, yeah, so I was lying through my teeth, but hey, all's fair in the pursuit of sex.

"You get used to it," he said. "You know, if you really wanted to make it up to me, you could buy me lunch. I'm starving."

"You're on. Let's go."

"I've got to stop by my locker, but I'll meet you in the parking lot."

When he joined me, we agreed on a nice, little restaurant which wasn't too far from the police station. We took separate vehicles, with the ostensible purpose of going our separate ways after lunch, but I of course, had other plans for dessert.

Now, as you can probably imagine, vampires in restaurants is a little awkward and tricky. We, of course, don't eat. And people tend to get a little suspicious if they never see you eat. I couldn't tell you how many times I've been accused of being anorexic.

So, I ordered something small, claiming not to be very hungry and spent the entire time, rearranging the food on my plate and discreetly pretending to eat. If Nick noticed this, he was enough of a gentleman not to comment on it. We chatted about the case, our jobs and our co-workers. I made a point of touching his hand frequently and repeatedly 'accidentally' brushing my leg against his. I was rather shameless really. I mean, I couldn't have been any more obvious than if I had simply crawled into his lap, which had also crossed my mind.

Now, let me explain here that, in case ya'll haven't figured it out already, we vampires are very sexual creatures. We love sex about as much as we love blood. If the legends about us being directly descended from Lilith are true, that would explain much of it. In Jewish folklore, she was considered to be a succubus. There's also the fact that we cannot Feed during the day. But just because we are incapable of it, doesn't mean that the desire to, goes away. Sex can be a very pleasant diversion from that... frustration.

With lunch finally over, we found ourselves standing beside our respective vehicle, awkwardly trying to figure out what to do next. Being that I'm a forward kind of girl, and I was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the intense, Nevada sunshine, I decided to go for the tactlessly blunt approach.

"Why don't we go back to my hotel? We could have that drink or whatever..." I said.

Somewhat to my surprise, Nick trumped me by saying, "My house is only a couple of blocks from here."

Oh, why, yes, it is, I thought. Even better, we could have our clothes off that much faster.

I followed him to his quiet, little neighborhood, since of course, there should have been no reason for me to know where he lived, and I parked in front of his house, while he pulled into the driveway. He waited for me while I crossed the street. I surreptitiously looked over his shoulder while he keyed in the code to his alarm system, memorizing the number.

Inside the house, I barely even paused to look around me, before I grabbed Nick and pressed him back against the nearest wall, kissing him deeply. He chuckled softly, but made no move to push me away. He parted his lips willingly for my eagerly probing tongue. My hands were roaming freely over his taut body, but there was entirely too much cloth in the way of my total enjoyment.

Without breaking off the kiss, I reached down and yanked the hem of his white t-shirt free of his pants. At this point, we were forced to step apart in order for me to peel the snug shirt off. He raised his arms accommodatingly and I pulled the shirt up over his head. I let it drop to the floor and had to step back for a moment to admire the newly exposed chest and stomach... oh, lovely.

I must say, that Nick Stokes had a beautiful body. It was wonderfully toned and muscular and yet was still lean and slender. And best of all, no nasty chest hair to obscure those lovely lines of muscle. Reaching out, I pressed one hand flat against his chest. Sliding it down, over his stomach, I grabbed onto his belt and pulled him close again.

As we resumed kissing, he slid his hands up my arms and grasped the lapels of my suit jacket. He pushed it off my shoulders and it slithered down my back to join his shirt on the floor. Never pausing in my attempts to bring as much of our bodies into direct contact as possible, I began slowly maneuvering Nick toward the bedroom. If it occurred to him to wonder how I knew which direction that room lay in, he gave no indication. Hopefully, his mind was too distracted to function logically.

Finally arriving at the bedroom, I maneuvered him up against the bed and gave him a hard shove, sending him sprawling back onto it. He took a moment to quickly untie his boots and kick them off, before he scooted back to a more stable position on the double bed. I took the opportunity to slip out of my sensible, low-heeled shoes as well.

Once Nick had settled himself in a comfortable position, I joined him on the bed. Swinging a leg over him, I straddled his narrow hips and leaned over to resume the foreplay. I felt his hands slide up my sides to my shoulders then up to cradle my head. I felt his strong fingers comb through my short, dark hair.

Oh, yeah, it was all good. Everything was progressing quite nicely. I slid my hands down his sides, enjoying the tactile ripple of muscle and ribs, to his waist. Having managed to unbuckle his belt, I was just undoing the front of his jeans and about to reach for paradise, when his entire body gave a slight shudder and stiffened. I felt his hands grasp my shoulders firmly and he pushed me away.

I rolled off to one side as he abruptly sat up. I watched as he brought a slightly shaking hand up to brush through his hair. We were both breathing heavily and his entire body was visibly trembling... Okay, this was not exactly the reaction I was going for. He looked down at me and gave me small, apologetic smile.

"I'm really sorry," he whispered, "but I just can't do this. I'm sorry."

"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked, reaching out to touch his face, hoping to calm him and gently encourage him to get back in the mood.

Catching hold of my hand, he gently, but firmly, pushed it away.

"Look, a few months ago, I was involved in a..."

"I know what happened," I said quickly, not wanting him to dwell on any unpleasant thoughts. "I heard about it from a few of the officers in the station."

He nodded absently. "Yeah, I kind of figured you would. Anyway, I haven't... been with anyone since then. Frankly, I haven't really even wanted to. My shrink said that when my body was ready, it would let me know. I do want you, Mercy, and I thought that maybe... Listen, I'm sorry, but I just don't think I'm ready for this yet. I know I led you on and everything, but I'm sorry, I just can't do this."

"It's okay, don't worry about it," I said, laying a hand on his thigh and trying to sound all supportive and understanding, but really not yet ready to give up the fight. I mean, come on, we were so close!

"I'm sorry, Mercy, but I think you should leave," he said gently. "I have to work later tonight and I need to get some sleep."

"Okay," I said softly, still trying to sound understanding, despite the fact that every cell in my body was screaming in frustration.

I climbed off the bed and stepped back into my shoes. Back out in the living room, I retrieved my jacket and slipped it on. Thankfully, Nick had remained in the bedroom and hadn't seen me to the door. That would have been entirely too humiliating. I let myself out the door and stood for a moment on his front step, squinting in the brutal sunlight, hoping maybe it could purge me of the lingering remnants of lust that still coursed through my body.

With a resigned sigh, I started for my car. I had just reached it, when my cell phone rang. Thinking it was probably Brass and really not being in the mood to deal with his pissy ass, I answered the phone a bit more brusquely than usual.

"Trudeau," I snapped.

"My, my, is someone feeling a little frustrated?" a deep, sneering voice asked. "What's the matter, did the pretty boy deny you, yet again? You're losing your touch, Mercy."

"How the hell did you get this number, Vero?" And how the hell did he know that Nick had kicked me out? Was he watching the house? I quickly glanced around me. Nothing but bland, middle-class suburbia, as far as the eyes could see.

"Oh, I have my connections, just as you have yours. But you're changing the subject. Your success rate with the pretty boy is down-right dismal. Maybe he needs a real vampire, a real man. You know, someone like me."

Vero continued talking, telling me in graphic detail exactly what he'd like to do to Nick when he finally got a hold of the investigator, but I wasn't listening anymore. I was wondering if it was possible for Brass to have the call traced and how long it would take. Letting Jimmy continue to spew his venom, I climbed back into my car and headed back to the police station.

To be continued...

Author's note: FYI to anyone who cares, I have this wonderful book, titled "The Vampire Book: the Encyclopedia of the Undead". Among other things, this book describes the many different legends about vampires from the various different cultures of the world. Different cultures have different ideas of what a vampire is and does. Now obviously a lot of what I'm describing is made up (and of course, a big nod to Anne Rice, even though I don't particularly like her books), but I'm also taking a lot from the Gypsy notions of what a vampire is.

According to Gypsy folklore, vampires can move about during the day. They aren't killed by sunlight. But they have no powers. They are essentially 'normal' humans at that time. The Gypsies also believe that vampires have insatiable sexual appetites. They believe that vampires not only weaken their victims by draining their blood, but by wearing them out sexually as well. I always rather liked that concept. I mean, there's just something incredibly sexual about vampires. I think it's the whole sucking thing.

Also, if anyone wants to know, a lot of the info about Lilith came from another wonderful book of mine, called "A Field Guide to Demons."

Thanks to everyone for the great reviews. I was a little worried about how this story might be received. I'm glad to see that so many people are keeping an open mind and apparently, I'm not alone in my fascination with vampires.


	4. Chapter 4

10/10/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 4

Back at the Crime Lab, Pretty Archie and I contacted my cell phone provider and had them dump my most recent calls. They determined that Vero's call came from another, pre-paid, cell phone. In order for them to track it, that phone needed to be on, which it currently wasn't. They agreed to monitor my phone and trace Vero's phone if it became active again. So, basically, I had to wait to see if Vero called me again.

For the rest of the afternoon, I sat in on a meeting with Brass, someone from the State Police, and another FBI agent from the local field office, a complete, pompous ass by the name of Rick Culpepper. If this was the same agent Grissom had mentioned earlier, I could understand his animosity toward the feds.

During this meeting, we hashed out our game plan for the evening. If Jimmy held to his pattern, he would kill again tonight. We wanted to make certain that his most likely haunts would be well covered. And we wanted ample back-up available, should the need for it arise.

It was late when we finally broke up and everyone left to brief their respective teams. As I had no team to command, I was officially relegated to the sidelines, in an 'advisory' capacity.

"Why don't you go on back to your hotel and take a load off," Brass had condescendingly suggested. "We'll call you and let you know when we've caught him."

"You know, I just might do that," I had said with my sweetest smile.

I, of course, had absolutely no intention of doing that. If anyone was going to be finding Vero, it would be me. Glancing at my watch, I figured it was late enough that Nick might have come in and I headed back to the Crime Lab.

Inside the lab I wandered around the maze of nearly identical, glass-walled labs, looking for some familiar landmark. Finally deciding that I was lost, I stopped the first technician I found and asked where I might find Nick Stokes. I was directed to the break room. As I was approaching this room, the sound of my own name, made me pause and listen. The room in question was still a few feet ahead of me and I couldn't see who all was present, but the door was open and I could clearly hear the conversation going on inside.

"So, I saw you leaving with Mercy, earlier today." I recognized Warrick's low voice speaking. "What's up with that?"

"She bought me lunch, not that it's any of your damn business," I heard Nick's playful response.

"Yeah, I suppose that's the least she could do after she got you removed from the case."

"I can't believe you went out with her after what she did to you." That sounded like the grumpy brunette I had briefly met earlier. I couldn't remember her name.

"What do you mean, 'went out'? Who said it was a date? And since when does everyone take such an interest in my personal life?" Nick asked, sounding slightly defensive.

"Since you started going out with federal agents," Brunette said. "Just be careful, Nick, the feds have their own agendas."

"Yeah, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Sara?"

That was it, Sara!

"Alright, yes, I do know about that. I'm speaking from experience. Look, I'll be honest. I don't like her. I get a bad vibe from her."

"What? Sara, you barely even spoke to her."

"I know, but there's something about her that's not right. I don't know what it is, but she gives me the creeps."

"Really? I think she's kind of hot," said a youthful voice that took me a moment to identify... Blondie, I mean, Greg. "I mean, if a nice-looking woman wants to drag me out on a dance floor, rip my shirt off and make out with me in front of a few hundred complete strangers and a couple of my co-workers, I'm good with it."

"Shut up, Greg, you're not helping!" Nick snapped.

"Ooh, someone's feeling a little defensive."

Without even being in the room, I could almost see the glare I was sure Nick was aiming at his younger colleague.

"Oh, lighten up, Nick, we're just trying to look out for you." I didn't recognize this female voice at all. It apparently belonged to someone I had not yet been introduced to.

"Yeah, I know, Cath," he said, his tone much more moderate this time, "but did it ever occur to any of you, that I don't need to be looked after? I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, we know, but you're going to get mothered, whether you like it or not, for the next few months, at least. You may as well accept it, Nick," the unknown woman said, her tone matching her words.

I didn't catch his response to this statement, as I noticed Grissom walking down the hall, headed toward me. He was looking at a file folder in his hand and hadn't seen me yet. Quickly reaching into the pocket of my suit jacket, I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to be absorbed in reading some text messages. From the corner of my eye, I saw the supervisor disappear into the break room. Continuing with my phone ruse, I resumed eavesdropping on the assembled CSIs.

"Warrick, why are you still here?" I heard Grissom ask. "I thought I sent you home a half hour ago?"

"Yeah, but I haven't summoned up the energy to face the drive home yet," the younger man responded.

"Well, you better hurry. After all, you don't want to keep the little woman waiting." This came from the unknown female. Hmmm, did I detect a note of bitterness buried under all that forced cheerfulness?

"Okay," Grissom said, taking charge, "assignments for the evening. Warrick's going home. Nick, you've got a breaking and entering over at McKinley High School."

"A B&E?" Nick asked. "Come on, Gris, can't Greg take this?"

"No, because Greg and Sara have a DB, found in the courtyard of the Saturn Arms Apartment complex. Besides, the person who broke into the high school stole some things from the chemistry lab, specifically magnesium and silver nitrate."

"A potentially volatile combination..." Nick said.

"Exactly, LVPD is taking this very seriously."

"Alright, I'm on it."

"Catherine, you and I get to hang out and see if we might be needed to deal with anything that comes up the Vero Case."

"Great and in the meantime, let me guess... paperwork?" the as-yet-unseen Catherine asked.

"You got it!"

The sounds of chairs scraping on the tile floor and shuffling feet, warned me that the meeting was adjourned. Glancing up, I saw the group filing out of the room. I smiled as I saw Nick heading toward me.

"Hey," he said, returning my smile and stopping in front of me. "So, I take it that you're not mad at me for kicking you out earlier?"

"No, I'm not mad. In fact, I was rather hoping we could go get breakfast later."

"Well, it'll have to be quite a bit later. But aren't you going to be out with the cops looking for Vero?"

"I've been given the night off," I said tactfully.

"Ah. So, what, you're just going to hang out here?"

"No," I said with a smile. "I'm going to head out and do some looking on my own."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Don't worry, I'll call for back-up if I spot him," I lied.

"So, do you think Vero will kill again tonight?"

"Well, if he sticks to his pattern, he'll try. Hopefully, there'll be someone around to stop him," I said.

"I've heard Grissom say that signature killers always know who their next victim is. Do you think Vero's already picked out his victim for tonight?"

"Oh, I know he has."

"And what happens if he is caught tonight? You'll be leaving after that?" he asked, not meeting my eyes.

"Well, assuming that we do catch him tonight, there'll be a lot of paperwork, processing, interrogations. That kind of thing could take a few days. And agents like me, who work special cases, we can sort of set our own hours, call our own shots..." I let my voice trail off as I realized that I was simply babbling.

What the hell? Since when do I care about trying to connect with these Breathers? It's usually just screw 'em, bite 'em, and move on. What the hell was happening to me? This entire hunt was getting way out of hand. I needed to find Vero, kill him and get the hell out of Dodge. And the sooner, the better.

"Okay, well then I'll see you later and maybe we could try that whole going-back-to-my-place thing again," Nick said, completely derailing my previous train of thought.

"Yeah? Are you sure about that?" I asked, glancing up into those incredible, soft, dark eyes.

"Yeah."

Reaching out, I grabbed onto his belt with both hands and pulled him closer. Oh, yeah, I really needed to get the hell out of Las Vegas... in a couple of days. I was just contemplating kissing him, when we were both startled by a voice coming from behind us.

"Nick, that crime scene isn't going to process itself."

We both jumped slightly and turned to see Grissom standing, watching us with a disapproving eye. Nick nodded and gave me a quick smile, before dutifully heading off to his assignment. I turned back to Grissom, who simply walked away.

I headed out to the parking lot as well and climbed into my little rented Honda. I drove back to my hotel to change into some comfortable, 'working' clothes. I threw on a pair of loose, black workout pants and a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. I slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks and headed out the door.

Back at my car, I used my spiffy, government-issue, portable GPS unit to access directions to McKinley High School. Full darkness had long since settle over the city by the time I arrived at the large, two-story, brick building, which looked suspiciously like a prison to me. Driving around to the back parking lot, I found Nick's SUV, a patrol car, and a couple of non-descript, mid-size sedans. I parked at the rear of the lot, in the shadow of a large tree.

Exiting the vehicle, I popped the trunk. Inside, was a long, thin, canvas bag, with a long carrying strap. Pulling down the zipper, which ran the length of the bag, I opened it and removed the item housed within.

It was a bokken, a wooden practice sword used for centuries by the Samurai to learn and hone their sword-fighting skills without fear of injury. The 'sword' was 40 inches long, as was standard for a katana, and was shaped and weighted just like a katana. Now, in the case of my specially made bokken, the edge and point were sharpened. The 'blade' had then been blackened by fire, then sharpened again, thus hardening the wood and allowing it to retain its edge longer. The blade was now completely blackened, and not just from the fires, but from the blood that had soaked into the wood, as well.

You see, this was my killing sword, the Clementis Fata, as I called it, borrowing the name my friend had given to me. There are three ways to kill a vampire: burning, beheading, and the ever popular, wooden stake through the heart. But a stake is such a crude, rudimentary weapon, no style at all, and very difficult to fight with, if your opponent decides not to go quietly. But a sword made of wood is far more practical and provides a much more elegant death, don't you think? Okay, yes, we all have our little vanities and, well, I dig swords.

I had spent many years in Japan, studying with Master Kenshi, learning to use my unique weapon and I am quite adept at both Kendo and Iaido. Like a 'real' katana, my bokken had a silk cord-wrapped hilt and a steel guard, with the traditional 'wheel' design.

Slipping off my Birks and tossing them into the still –open trunk (I worked much better in bare feet); I tucked the sword under my arm and jogged across the parking lot to the building. As I had expected, the door Nick and the officer had entered, had automatically locked behind them. This reassured me that the building was at least somewhat secure. I wandered around the perimeter of the school, looking for some way up to the roof.

As I had told Nick, I knew that Jimmy had already chosen his next victim and I knew he had chosen Nick. So, while the rest of the FBI and LVPD were out running around the city, I planned to stay close to the target. I would be on hand when Jimmy made his move and this time, I would be ready, killing sword in hand.

Finding a metal ladder attached to the side of the building, I started up it. Since I preferred to hunt my vampire prey barefoot, my feet were heavily calloused and the ridged metal rungs of the ladder didn't bother me overly much. Once I had reached the flat, black-pitch roof, I began patrolling the perimeter, looking for any sign of Vero's presence. My superior, vampire night vision allowed me to see quite clearly in the dark and my superior vantage point would allow me to see him long before he saw me.

I paced the roof of the school for nearly three hours, without a hint of Vero. I felt no telltale tingle, indicating his presence, but I kept to my vigil. Finally, I heard movement below me and I moved to the rear of the building and looked down to see Nick emerge, along with a female uniformed officer and two men in suits. While I watched, the younger of the two suits walked with Nick to his SUV. I assumed this must be a detective. The other suit went to his car and climbed in. I presumed him to be the school's principal.

I waited until everyone had climbed into their respective vehicles and were leaving the parking lot before I left my post. I descended the ladder quickly and jogged over to my car. Returning the sword to the trunk, I climbed into the car and started back to the police station.

I stopped by my little, borrowed office, to check for any messages then headed for the Crime Lab, where Nick was already processing the evidence he had collected from the school. Seeing that Grissom was ensconced in his office with a pile of paperwork, I slipped past and went to join Nick in the lab where he was working.

"Did you find anything interesting?" I asked him.

"I found a lot of fingerprints. Luckily McKinley High participates in the program to have all students and faculty fingerprinted. Those prints are stored in the PD's database. Right now, I'm running the prints I collected against the prints on those files. If I don't get any hits, I'll run them through AFIS next. But my money is on a student. I also found this in the storage room where the chemicals were kept."

He slid a thick textbook across the table towards me. The title 'Advanced Chemistry' stood out in large, bold letters. Noting a sheet of paper sticking out of the book, I slipped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled the sheet out. It was some sort of a quiz. I immediately noted the large, red 'D' scrawled at the top of the page and the name Ellen Garvey written in the upper right corner.

"So, you think this Ellen Garvey might be your thief?" I asked.

"Looks like it. Det. Morris is heading out to her parents' house to bring her in for questioning. But you know, I think she might have a legitimate beef. She answered every question on that quiz correctly. So, I don't know how she ended up with a D."

I didn't comment on this as the computer beside us gave a soft beef, drawing Nick's attention. He turned to look at it.

"We got a match on one of the prints. Andrew Woods, the chemistry teacher. Well, that makes sense. Now, let's see if we can match some of the other prints."

He moved the mouse around and tapped on the keyboard for a few seconds. I had no idea what he was doing, I was simply enjoying watching him work. He got this intense look of concentration and you could almost see the thoughts in his head spinning like mad as he worked through his latest problem. Now, I have to say that intelligence can be an incredibly sexy quality. House it in an equally sexy body and you've got one devastating combination.

After several minutes, he looked up and caught me staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the view."

It took him a few seconds to catch my meaning and when he did, I swear, he actually blushed slightly and smiled. He was spared from commenting as the computer gave another soft beep.

"Another match," he said, immediately all business again. "And what do you know? Ellen Garvey."

"Would she have a legitimate reason to be in this storage room? You know, was she some kind of a teacher's assistant?"

"Not according to the principal. He said the only people who were allowed to have access to the storage room were him, the custodian, and Mr. Woods, the chemistry teacher. It was school policy that no students were allowed to have access to the room."

"Hmm, well then, I'd say that Ms. Garvey has some explaining to do."

"Yes, she does."

Tapping out a few more commands on the keyboard, he printed out the incriminating fingerprint results. He continued to run prints through the computer, while I watched, for about a half hour, when his cell phone rang.

"Stokes," he said, answering it. "Yeah, okay, great. I'll be right over."

Ending the call, he turned to me and said, "That was Det. Morris, he's got Ellen Garvey and her father over at PD. I'm going to head over and sit in on the interview."

"Mind if I tag along?" I asked. "I don't really have anything else to do until I hear something about Vero."

"Okay, sure, if you want," he said with a shrug.

He grabbed the print results and slid them into a folder. Placing this on top of the chemistry textbook, he picked them both up and we headed over to PD. We met Det. Morris outside the interview room.

He informed Nick that the girl was eighteen and had declined having her father present for the interview. She had also declined legal counsel. While Nick and the detective entered the interview room, I stood outside and watched through the one-way glass.

Ellen Garvey sat alone at the small table. She had obviously been rousted out of bed as she was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and dark blue sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a loose, rumpled braid. She was a petite girl, with the prerequisite nerd's thick glasses, but the wire frames were quite flattering to her face and did not obscure the fact that she was quite a beauty. She sat nervously fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Det. Morris, a slightly-built, brown-haired, non-descript man, sat at the table opposite the girl and gave her a hard look. Nick remained standing and leaned against the back wall, his arms folded across his chest, apparently content to remain in the background for the time being.

Morris placed the heavy textbook on the table with a loud thump. The girl jumped noticeably at the sound. She glanced at the book guiltily.

"This is yours, isn't it?" the detective asked.

"No," Ellen squeaked softly.

"Really? We found a quiz, with your name on it, inside and Mr. Carris, your principal, already confirmed that this book was issued to you. We found it inside the storage room where the missing chemicals were kept. Can you explain how it got there?"

The girl said nothing.

"We also found your fingerprints all over the shelves in the storage room and on the door handle. We know you took those chemicals. Why? And where are they?"

She still said nothing.

"Ellen, this isn't a joke. We know those chemicals can be used to make a bomb. You could be faced with some very serious charges, but if you cooperate with us, we might be able to help you out. We've already submitted a request for a warrant to search your father's house. We'll find the chemicals on our own, eventually. But it would look better for you, if you just told us where they were."

"It doesn't really matter anyway," Ellen said softly. "Thanks to Mr. Woods, I've probably already lost my scholarship to UCLA."

"Yeah, I looked at your quiz," Nick spoke up, stepping closer to the table and drawing the girl's attention. "You answered all the questions correctly, but he still gave you a D."

"Yeah, I know," she said flatly.

"Let me guess, there aren't very many girls in your Advanced Chemistry class, are there?"

"No, there are only seven of us."

"And I'm willing to bet that the other six girls aren't as pretty as you are."

Ellen said nothing, but she looked away from the investigator.

Nick moved closer and pulled out the other chair across from the girl. Sitting down, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

"You know, when I was in high school, chemistry was my favorite subject," he said conversationally. "But I hated my teacher. You see, I also played on the football team and the baseball team. My Advanced Chem. teacher had this unshakable belief that all jocks were stupid and he never let me forget that. Any time I made a mistake, he always made sure the whole class knew about it."

"How did you deal with it?" the girl asked, looking up at him.

"Well, I didn't try to make a bomb... It just made me work that much harder. I was determined to prove to him that he was wrong. I figured my best revenge would be to get an A in Advanced Chem. and still excel in my sports."

"How did that work out for you?"

"Well, I got an A- and I made the Texas State All-Star Baseball Team."

"That's great," the girl said bitterly. "Your teacher played fair. I work my ass off in that class and, as you said yourself, I get the answers right, but he still gives me a Ds."

"Did you try to talk to someone about this? The principal?"

"I tried. He told me I must be doing something wrong. You see, Andrew Woods is considered something of an expert in his field. He's had several papers published. He's been offered teaching posts at several universities. The high school considers itself incredibly lucky to have him. They're not going to do anything that might upset him.

"I tried talking to my father, but he's a teacher, too, and as far as he's concerned, anytime there's a problem between a teacher and a student, it's always the student's fault. He thinks all teachers are infallible.

"What was I supposed to do? Because of my Chem. grades, I was in danger of losing my scholarship to UCLA. Even with financial aid, my father can't afford to pay the out-of-state tuition, not on a teacher's salary. I was completely screwed and all because Mr. Woods believes that because I'm pretty and blonde, I can't possibly have a brain.

"I never wanted to hurt him. I was just hoping to scare him. I guess, I thought if I could make a bomb, it would show him that I did know what I was doing. But I guess, that back-fired pretty badly. I couldn't even get away with stealing the chemicals. Just like the idiot, he thinks I am, I left my book behind."

"Ellen, tell all of this to the judge," Nick said. "Maybe he'll take this into account. You have some justification. And as Det. Morris said, it would help your case, if you told us where the chemicals are."

The girl sighed and slumped back in her chair. "They're in my father's garage."

"Thank you, Ellen," Nick said, reaching over and squeezing the girl's arm. "If it helps any, I think you've got pretty good grounds for a discrimination lawsuit against your teacher. That might get the school board's attention. Bring me the rest of your tests and quizzes. I'll go through them and see just how badly he's been grading them."

The girl looked up, wide-eyed. "You mean it? You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah, us dumb jocks and dumb blondes gottta stick together, right?" he said, giving her a wink.

After the girl had been read her rights and escorted from the room by a uniformed officer, Nick came to join me in the observation room.

"Well, aren't you just the great guy?" I said as he entered.

He gave me a self-conscious smile and said, "What? She was in a bad situation. She handled it badly, but she doesn't deserve to go to jail. She never actually hurt anyone."

"Of course, the fact that she was pretty and blonde didn't have anything to do with your altruism, did it?"

He gave me a sincerely confused look. "No, it didn't."

Well, well, I thought, realizing that I believed him, there are actually true gentlemen left in the world, after all. Moving closer, I rested my hands on his hips and leaned into his body, kissing him. After several, long minutes, he gently pushed me away.

"Uh, I am still working..." he pointed out.

"Oh, yeah... damn."

We headed back to the Crime Lab, to Grissom's office. The supervisor was still buried under a pile of paperwork. He glanced up as we entered.

"You're still here, Agent Trudeau?" he said coolly. "I thought you'd headed back to your hotel hours ago?"

"I couldn't sleep, so, I thought I'd stop in and see if there'd been any word about the manhunt."

"No, there've been no sightings of Vero. No dead bodies with their throats ripped out have been reported either, so that's good, at least. Maybe he's already left town."

"Maybe," I said.

"How's your case coming, Nick?" Grissom asked.

"Closed. We got a confession and Morris is processing the suspect now."

"Very good, that was fast."

"It was a softball case, really. Greg could've handled it. Speaking of whom, do you want me to go help Sara and Greg with the evidence from their DB case?"

"No, they've got it under control. You've worked a couple of doubles this past week and you're almost tapped out on overtime. It's been a pretty quiet night, why don't you just head home. I can always call you back in, if something comes up."

"Yeah, right," Nick said, with a smile. "Thanks, Gris, see you later tonight."

I started to follow Nick out of the office, but Grissom's voice stopped me.

"Agent Trudeau?"

"Yes?" I said, turning back to the supervisor.

"Aren't you going to stay here and wait for word on the Vero Case?" he asked pointedly.

"No, it doesn't look like Jimmy's going to come out and play tonight after all. I think I'll just head back to my hotel."

Grissom pursed his lips and fixed me with a suspicious glare, his eyes flicking briefly to Nick, who was still standing in the doorway, waiting for me. Grissom nodded grimly, but said nothing more.

"Good night, Mr. Grissom," I said sweetly as I turned and rejoined Nick.

"What was that all about?" he asked me as we headed down the hall toward the locker room.

"I don't think your boss likes me much."

"Oh, don't take it personally. He doesn't like feds in general."

"Yeah, I gathered that and having met Agent Culpepper earlier this evening, I can see why."

I waited in the hall while Nick went into the locker room. He rejoined me a few minutes later and I asked where we could go to get some breakfast. There were still a few hours to go before dawn.

"You know, breakfast isn't all that difficult to make," Nick said. "We could go back to my place. I'm sure I could manage to scramble a few eggs or something."

"Or something," I agreed.

Once again I followed him to his house, the route to which I was starting to become very familiar with. Inside, I resisted the urge to tear his clothes off and simply throw him down on the floor and forced myself to actually look around the small, neat house. I was determined to take things a little slower this time and hopefully not spook him.

"Uh, listen, do you mind if I take a quick shower?" he asked. "I'm feeling a little funky."

"No, no, please, feel free," I said.

"Great, I'll just be five minutes."

He disappeared down the hallway and I wandered around the small living room. There was a bookcase and I walked over to look at the titles shelves there. As I had expected there were several forensic textbooks and journals, as well as some chemistry and law textbooks. Unexpectedly, there was also a large reproduction of the rare Audubon's Birds of North America, several field guides for bird watchers, and a couple of Texas A&M University yearbooks.

There were a few dusty knickknacks on the shelves as well, a model of a WWI biplane, a signature-covered baseball in an acrylic case, a child's plaster handprint with the name Brendan painted at the top, and several framed photographs. I picked up one of the photos, which showed a group of nine smiling adults gathered in an outdoor setting. I spotted a very young Nick, sitting on the ground in the front of the group. Noting the strong, general family resemblance of the group, I figured this must be his family. My, but they were a handsome, wholesome-looking lot.

"You looking at the picture of the Stokes clan?" I heard Nick ask from behind me. "That was taken at my parents' 35th anniversary party, about ten years ago."

I turned to face him. "Oh, yeah, that's nice..." I mumbled, so not caring about the photo at the moment.

He was standing there, in his living room, wearing only a towel around his waist. His hair was wet and clinging slightly to his forehead. His skin was still somewhat damp. In fact, my eyes were drawn to a single drop of moisture that was slowly working its way down his chest, in that little groove that ran between his pectoral muscles and I had an incredible urge to lick it away.

"So, are you still hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah, but not for food," I said, without thinking.

He smiled and said, "Well, we could just skip breakfast."

"What a fabulous idea," I said, depositing the photo on the nearest, handy surface. I stepped up to stand in front of him and grasping the towel, I started to lead him toward the bedroom.

In the bedroom, between the two of us, we made short work of removing my clothes and in no time at all, I was as naked as he was. I pulled him close again, enjoying the residual heat his skin was still radiating from the shower. My hands slid over the muscles of his back as we kissed; while his hand came up to gently cup my jaw.

Feeling the baby-soft skin of his face against mine, I knew that he had also shaved while he'd been in the bathroom. I found this little extra effort quite endearing and further proof that he was serious about going through with this. Sliding my hands back down to his waist, I gently eased the towel out from between our bodies. Now there was nothing but skin on skin and I could tell that he wanted this as much as I did. By unspoken, mutual consent, we both moved to the bed and pulling the covers down, we climbed in.

Still not wishing to spook this potentially skittish lover, I let Nick take the lead in our lovemaking, something I would not do any other time. Control freak? Me? Hell, yes, but this time I eased up on the control. I reclined back into the pillows and welcomed him into my embrace. And I must admit, this position did have one advantage, it gave me better access to that lovely, round ass of his and I exploited this advantage fully.

Enjoying the feel of his warm breath against my shoulder, I dug my fingers into his backside, spurring him on. As I noted the gradual increase in that breathing, I knew he was nearing his release. Dawn was still about an hour off and I hadn't lied about my hunger. If these things were timed just right, a good time could be had by all.

Using my superior strength, I leveraged the two of us up and over, reversing our positions. Acting quickly, not giving him the chance to balk at this abrupt change, I grasped his wrists and pinned them above his head. Never stopping with the movements of my hips, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his neck. Feeling with my tongue, I found his pulse, which was deliciously strong and rapid. He was ready. My teeth penetrated the flesh of his neck at the same moment of his release and the feel of his body stiffening beneath mine and the sound of his soft gasp, were more than enough for me.

I continued to drink even after I felt his body go slack beneath me, his mind overwhelmed by the sensory overload. With my body and my thirst at last sated, I rolled away from him and lay panting, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, I turned to look at him. He was sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. There was a slight smile playing about his lips, so I don't think he'd minded my bite too much.

Propping myself up, I leaned over to look at his neck. A thin trickle of blood was weeping from the twin puncture marks. Gently cradling his head in my hand, I leaned across his chest and licked the blood away, blurring his memories slightly at the same time. By morning his neck would be impressively bruised, which would help to hide the puncture marks. He would remember that I had bitten him, just not how deeply I had bitten him. Pulling the covers up over both of us, I snuggled down against his chest and drifted off.

To be continued...

Author's note: Sorry I took so long to get this out, but I decided to rewrite a big chunk of the middle and that took a while. Also, hockey season's back on (yeah, hockey's back! Go Red Wings!) and that does tend to put a crimp in my writing time. Don't worry, I will finish the story, it just might take a little longer. Thank you for your patience and the great reviews.


	5. Chapter 5

10/18/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 5

I was roused quite abruptly by hands roughly shaking my shoulders and a panicky voice calling my name.

"Mercy, wake up! Please, wake up!"

With a slight groan, I opened my eyes, to find Nick kneeling beside me, holding my shoulders. He was gazing down at me wide-eyed and slightly frantic. Seeing my eyes open, he quickly released me and sat back, running shaking hands over his face.

"Oh, man, I thought you were dead," he whispered into his hands.

I sat up slowly, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head. I reached out and touched his arm. I could feel the tension in his muscles. He still wasn't looking at me.

"Nick, what happened? What's going on?" I asked, although I thought I was beginning to understand.

"You weren't breathing," he said softly, confirming my suspicion. "I woke up and I leaned over to kiss you, but you weren't breathing. I thought you were dead."

"Nick, look at me. I'm sorry, I should have warned you. When I sleep, my heart rate drops really low. I know, it may have seemed like I wasn't breathing, but I was, just very shallowly. It happens all the time. I'm sorry," I babbled.

There was a reason why I very rarely ever spent the entire night in a man's bed and this was part of it. Nick was calmer now and I pulled him into my arms, gently running my hand over his head. He leaned his head against my shoulder and slipped his arms around me.

"After everything you've been through, that must have been very uncomfortable for you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I said softly.

"No, I'm sorry I overreacted. I feel stupid," he said, with a little self-conscious chuckle.

As we sat holding each other, my thoughts started to drift toward an encore of last night's performance, but those thoughts were interrupted by Nick's cell phone ringing. With an apologetic smile, he released me and answered the phone.

"Stokes," he said. "...No, I was awake... Yeah, okay, not a problem. I'll be right there."

Ending the call, he turned back to me and said, "That was Ecklie. One of the swing shift guys got called back into court unexpectedly. I'm going to need to go in to work. I was supposed to have the night off."

"Yeah," I said. "I should probably go in as well and see how the manhunt went last night. Although, since I didn't hear anything, I think we can assume it was a bust."

I reluctantly left Nick as he was about to climb back into the shower and returned to my hotel to take a shower of my own, on my own. Changing into one of my many obligatory, dark, FBI suits, I headed to the police station. I found Special Agent Culpepper and Capt. Brass waiting in my little, borrowed office. Neither looked well rested, but then it was almost 4 in the afternoon and they had both been up all night.

"So, I take it that you didn't find him?" I asked, with some satisfaction.

"No, we didn't," Culpepper said. "Personally, I think he's already left town."

"His pattern it to commit three murders before leaving town," I pointed out.

"His pattern is also to commit a murder, a night, so either way, he's changed his pattern. Signature killers will do that if they're forced to. Frankly, I think he saw the increased police presence at his likely haunts and took off to find easier killing grounds."

"I don't think he scares off that easily, Agent Culpepper. You may be right that the increased presence kept him off the streets last night, but it won't keep him indefinitely, especially if you and your people throw in the towel so quickly."

"I'm not throwing in the towel, Agent Trudeau. I'm just not willing to waste the taxpayer's money on a killer who has most likely already moved on. And I'm not willing to waste any more of my people's time, asking them to chase shadows. We have other matters to deal with. You're on your own."

With that, the federal agent stood and left the room. I turned to Brass, who stood as well. He gave me a slightly warmer look than he had in days.

"I'll keep a detail on that blood bar and some of the other hot spots you mentioned, tonight," he said.

"Thank you, Captain."

He gave me a slight wave as he left the room. I spent the next few hours on the phone, speaking with some of my "other" contacts, trying to see if anyone had any untapped, inside information about Vero. No one had much to say. The man kept to himself and avoided other vampires like the plague, which wasn't surprising. We weren't known to be a close knit lot. Like many predators, we tended to be pretty solitary. We might choose to work with a partner, but it would generally be someone with whom we had some history, such as a Sire/Fledgling relationship.

Glancing out the small window of the office and seeing that it was fully dark now, I thought I would wander over to the lab and see what had become of Nick. If he was still out at a crime scene, I wanted to be close on hand. But I found him in one of the labs, sitting at a computer, typing away. I stepped in and asked him what he was doing.

"Tedious, data entry," he said grumpily. "Ecklie calls me up and asks me to come in on my day off, makes it sound really urgent, but then relegates me to the lab all night."

"Aww, poor baby," I said in mock sympathy. Actually I was relieved. I had some errands I wanted to take care of before tonight and this way I wouldn't have to worry about leaving him alone at a crime scene, with only the cops as protection.

"So, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Oh, I've got a couple of things to take care of."

"Am I going to see you later tonight? Assuming nothing major comes up, I should be done at midnight."

"Uh, I don't think so," I said with sincere regret. "Culpepper pulled a Cartman on us. So, I think Brass will actually let me come out and play this time."

"A Cartman?" Nick asked, looking confused.

"Yeah, you know, from 'South Park'? 'Screw you guys, I'm going home.'"

He smiled. "You watch 'South Park'?"

"I have a fine appreciation for irreverent humor."

Standing there, basking in the glow of his smile, I was trying to force myself to leave so I could get on with my business, when we were joined by a stunning redhead. She walked briskly into the lab carrying two cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. She set them down a nearby desk.

"Hey, Nick, can you help me w- oh..." She abruptly stopped as she caught sight of me. "Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"Oh, you didn't," I said quickly. "I was just about to leave."

"Uh, let me guess, you must be Agent Trudeau. I'm Catherine Willows."

"Oh, yes, I am Agent Trudeau. Nice to meet you," I said and we shook hands.

"Yes, nice to finally meet you as well. I've heard a lot about you," Catherine said.

"Nothing good, I hope."

"Well, that depends on who you talk to. Nicky, here, has plenty of nice things to say about you."

'Nicky?' I thought, feeling an odd surge of annoyance. "Yes, but I'm sure Grissom had much more colorful things to say," I commented aloud.

"Yeah, well, don't take it personally. Grissom's kind of hard to please. He measures the world by a set of standards that Gandhi would have trouble living up to."

And with that comment, I found my annoyance fading. Hmm, maybe I was going to like this woman after all.

"What did you need my help with, Cath?" Nick asked.

"Well, I know that you've been stuck sitting at that computer for a few hours now. How'd you like to do something a little more active? I need some help with an experiment."

"Yes! I would love to help you with an experiment!" he said, practically jumping out of his chair. He turned to me. "Uh, call me later?"

"Sure, later."

"Come on, Loverboy, let's go," Catherine said. "Grab those boxes and follow me, please."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, flashing me a quick grin and following the older woman's instructions.

I trailed along behind them for a few minutes, until our paths diverged. I continued toward the exit, heading out to the parking lot. A full, heavy moon hung suspended in the darkness and I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe in the cool night air. The darkness was like a living, breathing thing, which curled around me like a cat curls around your ankles. It seeped into me with every breath I took, warming me and filling me with power.

Arriving at my car, I climbed in and headed to the airport. It had occurred to me that Vero would now recognize my little Honda. It would probably be in my best interest to change to a different vehicle and wanting to make a big change, I turned in the compact for a black SUV. With my new beefier vehicle, I headed back to the station. I wanted to pick up a police scanner. I was planning on spending the night outside of Nick's house again, but I wanted to keep track of the manhunt at the same time.

Arriving back at the station, I was met just inside the doors, by Capt. Brass, who told me that Vero had been spotted at the blood bar about twenty minutes ago. The captain was about to head over there. Did I want to tag along?

I immediately returned to my vehicle and joined the small procession of cruisers and unmarked cars heading to the club. At the nightclub, we all parked in an empty lot a couple of blocks away. A large, black van with the letters S.W.A.T. stenciled on the sides was already waiting there, just in case Vero tried to take hostages. And much to my annoyance, I saw that Culpepper had changed his mind. He and another agent were also present.

Having this many officers present was definitely cramping my style. How was I supposed to get Vero alone so I could execute him? Arrest wasn't really an option for me and I highly doubted any of these macho men would allow me to try and take him out on my own. The only plus, was that with this many people milling around, I could probably slip away without drawing too much attention.

Deciding to at least find out what the plan of action was, I wandered over to where Brass, Culpepper and the SWAT captain were conversing. I was informed that there was an undercover cop inside the club and he was the one who had called in the sighting. The man was wired and he was keeping a running commentary on Vero's activities.

As so often happens with these kinds of operations, there was a lot of standing around, waiting. There seemed to be some confusion about whether the man being observed was, in fact, Vero. The man was keeping to the shadows. I offered to go in and have a look, but Brass quickly shot me down.

"Vero knows you," he pointed out. "We don't want to spook him like last time."

Conceding this point, I shrugged and let the matter drop. I guess it wouldn't do to have him sense my presence too soon. I paced around the lot, anxious for some kind of action.

Finally, after an hour or two, the undercover officer reported that Vero was making his move. He was chatting with a young man who fit the victim profile. Brass ordered the uniforms to move closer, to cover the front of the club. The SWAT team suited up and prepared to move out if they were needed. Their sniper was already in position. It was still probably another hour before the cop inside reported that Vero and his intended victim were on their way out the front door. Everyone tensed in anticipation.

The actual arrest was completely anti-climactic. Vero didn't put up a fight at all. He simply surrendered and meekly allowed himself to be handcuffed. I was immediately suspicious. The man had to be up to something.

Before Brass could stop me, I rushed forward and stopped the two officers escorting Vero, before they could load him into one of the cruisers. As I approached him, I noted that he appeared to be the same scary vamp that I had been chasing for months. The man was 6'4" tall and a good 250 pounds. His face was obscured by his curtain of long, straight, black hair, but I recognized the long, leather trench coat that he never seemed to remove.

"Wait a second," I yelled to the officers. "I want to talk to him for a minute."

Stepping close to the taller man, I looked up into his face. I knew immediately that something was very wrong. He just stared down at me, looking confused and betrayed. This was definitely not Jimmy Vero. Reaching up, I grabbed a handful of lank, black hair. It came off in my hand. It was a wig. The man's hair was actually quite short and blond.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.

"Dave Hansen. I'm a senior at WLVU. I'm on the football team. I tried to tell these cops that I wasn't the guy they were looking for, but they wouldn't listen."

I turned to Brass. "You got the wrong guy!"

"What!"

The detective came hurrying over to see for himself. I showed him the wig. He turned on the kid in the handcuffs.

"What the hell is this? Do you always walk around in a long, black wig?" he demanded.

"Okay, look, I met this guy the other day, kind of a creepy guy. Anyway, he told me he'd pay me $500 to wear that wig and this coat and show up at this club. He told me to bring a buddy. I figured, what the hell, it's an easy $500. And it's the weekend before Halloween. I thought it might be kind of fun. I wasn't expecting to get arrested. I didn't do anything wrong," Hansen said, in a slightly whiny tone. "You're not going to tell my coach, are you? I could get thrown off the team and lose my scholarship."

In the middle of this explanation, Culpepper joined us. "I was just talking with the 'victim'. He confirmed the story," the agent said. "These boys aren't killer and victim. They're just a couple of stupid college kids, looking to take a walk on the wild side. People, we've been played."

"Yeah, so while we're all gathered here, watching the distraction, Vero's off somewhere else with his real victim," Brass said glumly.

A very disturbing thought entered my mind. "What time is it?" I asked Brass.

The detective glanced at his watch. "It's 12:30, why?"

Nick would be done with his shift and by now, he'd be home. Vero had deliberately lured me here, thus leaving Nick completely unprotected.

"Shit!" I hissed, turning and sprinting back to my SUV, ignoring Brass and Culpepper's shouted questions.

Jumping into my vehicle, I sped away toward Nick's house. Luckily, it seemed that every cop in the city was gathered outside the blood bar, because I broke every traffic law along the way. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure how I avoided causing any accidents.

Arriving at Nick's neighborhood, I didn't bother trying to avoid drawing attention to my presence. I stopped the car in front of Nick's house, retrieved my bokken, which had been lying on the passenger seat beside me, and climbed out of the vehicle. The small house looked quiet and normal. There were lights on in the living room and bedroom. I stopped for a moment on the lawn and concentrated on my senses. Yes, I could feel that slight tingle. Vero was nearby, but where?

I crept carefully up the living room window and peered inside through the gap in the curtains. Nick was sitting on his couch, watching TV and drinking a beer. He looked comfortable and relaxed, lounging in a pair of loose, flannel pants and an ancient Texas A&M sweatshirt. I felt relief flood my body. Vero hadn't done anything yet and maybe, once he sensed my presence, he would back down and slink away, as he had done so many times before.

But, as I stood watching, I heard a brief, loud buzzing sound. The lights in the house flickered for a second. Nick was instantly on his guard, sitting up straight and looking around. There was a muffled crash and the investigator was on his feet, moving to a small end table near the front door. Sliding the drawer of the table open, he took out a 9mm pistol and pulled the slide back, chambering a round.

Even though I was expecting it, the tingling in my spine having increased dramatically, it was still a shock to see Jimmy step into the living room, emerging from a second bedroom. My long sought after quarry was suddenly and alarmingly made flesh. I assume he had disabled the alarm system, probably by simply pulling random wires (electrocution not being one of the ways in which to kill a vampire) and had come in through a window. He stood, looking large and oppressive in the small living room, towering over the smaller man.

Nick raised his weapon and pointed it at Jimmy's chest. "What do you want? Get the hell out of my house!"

Jimmy said nothing, but took a slow, deliberate step towards the investigator.

"Stay where you are!" Nick ordered. "I will shoot."

Jimmy smiled, a terrible sight, which showed entirely too many yellowish teeth, and slowly took another step closer. The reports of the gun were incredibly loud in the small space and they exploded four times, shattering the stillness of the quiet neighborhood. Jimmy staggered back a pace or two and calmly looked down at his chest. The bullets had made a nice, little grouping, all center mass. Of course, it would have been very difficult for Nick to miss at such close range.

Nick was also looking at those wounds and probably noting that there wasn't very much blood, certainly not as much as there should have been. Vero looked back up and his smile widened to even more grotesque proportions. The color drained from Nick's face and he started inching backward, toward the front door.

"Oh, God," I only just heard him breathe.

Moving with the lightning-fast reflexes we are capable of in short bursts, Jimmy launched himself at the stunned investigator. He wrenched the gun from Nick's hand and tossed it aside, grabbing the smaller man around the waist and dragging him close. Grasping as much of the short, dark hair as he could, Jimmy yanked Nick's head back, exposing his throat.

Holding the struggling investigator in this awkward position, Jimmy very deliberately looked over in my direction. Our eyes locked and I realized that he had known I was there all along. Since the moment of his shocking entrance, I had been gripped by a strange and previously unknown fear. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the horrible spectacle before me and I couldn't seem to force my body to respond to my commands. Now, as my eyes locked with Vero's I felt pinned in place by the intensity of his malevolence, of his insatiable rage.

With a quick, smug smile for me and a flash of fangs, Jimmy sank his teeth into the smaller man's neck. Not even Nick's scream was enough to break through my immobility. I could only stand, stunned while the other vampire drank deeply. After a minute or so, Nick's frantic struggles began to weaken.

With an obvious force of will, Jimmy pulled away from the other man's neck. He looked up and flashed me with his still-bloody fangs. I could see a distinct red trail dribbling down Nick's neck to stain the front of his sweatshirt and the investigator was clearly unsteady on his feet. But as Jimmy began roughly running his large hands over the smaller man's body, Nick managed to summon the strength to slam one knee hard into Vero's groin.

Unfortunately, the only effect this seemed to have on the vampire, was to anger him even further. With a vicious snarl, he backhanded the smaller man and Nick was slammed into the nearby wall with devastating force. He crumpled to the floor, unmoving, a slight red streak smearing the wall in his wake.

Stalking heavily over to the wall, Jimmy lifted the smaller man and slung his limp body over one shoulder, as easily as if he were carrying a sack of potatoes. With the unconscious investigator in tow, he headed for the bedroom. Once Vero had disappeared from my sight, it was as if a switch had been thrown in my brain. Suddenly, I could think again. I could move.

It occurred to me that part of my paralysis had been caused by my fear that if Nick saw me fighting with Vero, he would figure out what I was, that I was the same kind of monster that Jimmy was. If Nick knew that I was a vampire, he would be repulsed and he would hate me. For some reason I couldn't explain, that thought had frozen me with indecision. But now that the investigator was unconscious, I was free to act.

Backing up several paces, I sprinted toward the living room window with a burst of inhuman speed and leaped. I kept my arms raised over my face as I crashed through the glass. I landed on my feet, in a crouch, and was immediately moving toward the bedroom.

I found Vero standing over Nick, who was laying face-down on the bed. The vampire had already torn away the investigator's sweatshirt and was about to finish stripping him. I stepped in and grabbed Vero's arm, spinning him around. I punched him in the face with the full force of my considerable strength. His head snapped back for a second and he gave it a quick shake, like a dog. He refocused his dark, blood-shot eyes on me menacingly and actually growled... Oh, shit, this was going to be a long, painful night.

The bedroom was entirely too small of a space to try and fight in, so I backed out of the room, leading Jimmy into the more open arena of the living room. We glared at each other, each trying to intimidate the other. I held my sword out in front of me in both hands. Jimmy's eyes flicked over the blackened wood with contempt.

"You going to stick me with your fancy, little stake, Mercy?" he rasped at me. "I don't think so. I think I'm going to rip your head right off your shoulders with my bare hands and then I'm going to have some fun with your little boyfriend. He's pretty damn hot. Maybe I'll take my time with him. Let him live for a while, so I can enjoy him thoroughly."

I felt my skin crawl at the thought of Jimmy's hands touching Nick's body, but I didn't let his taunts unnerve me. The key to winning in these kinds of fights was to remain calm at all times. I was ready, standing tall, balanced on the balls of my feet, right foot slightly more forward, and sword steady in front of me. When Jimmy made his move, abruptly lunging for me, I quickly leaped aside and slashed him across the chest with my blade. The wood bit deep, but not enough to kill. The far wall and ceiling were showered with a fine spray of blood as my sword followed through its sweeping, upward arc.

I spun around to face Jimmy again, ready for his next attack. He stood panting and furious, a long, red gash running diagonally up his chest. Oh, yeah, that stung him. Just because bullet wounds and deep cuts don't kill us, doesn't mean that we're oblivious to the pain.

"What's the matter, Jimmy, did my fancy, little stake, hurt you?" I sneered.

With an animal-like growl, he launched himself at me again, this time prepared for my slash. He blocked the blade with his left forearm, at the same time wrapping his huge right hand around my throat. Dragging me closer, he bit down on my neck. A feeling of purest revulsion passed through me, along with the electric pain of his teeth.

You see, I was mistaken when I said that there were only three ways to kill a vampire. There was actually a fourth, but it so rarely ever happened that I had neglected to mention it. Of course, I should have remembered Tristan's words. He had warned me that Vero had drained his Sire, Sophia, dry. Now, other than the initial sharing of The Gift, vampires do not Feed on each other. There is no actual law against it. There doesn't need to be one, it's just not done. I mean, it's like cannibalism in humans. You don't really need a law to tell you that this is very, very wrong.

Shocked and repulsed to my very core, I brought one hand up to claw at Jimmy's nearest eye. Unfortunately my hand was shaking too badly to get the proper angle to pop it out; otherwise that eye would've been my proud trophy. As it was, I gouged a deep trough down Vero's cheek. With a loud grunt, he released me and stepped back, swiping at the blood running down his face.

We were both panting now as we glared at each other. I could feel blood trickling down my neck to drip onto the floor below me. Watching Jimmy's eyes, I saw a sudden maniacal glint flash through them and knew that he was about to lunge again. But even recognizing this, didn't help me any. Jimmy was just too fast and he had a longer reach than me.

Repeating his earlier move, he blocked my slash with his arm and grabbed me by the neck, but this time, he lifted me off my feet and slammed me down to the floor. Stomping one big, booted foot onto my chest, he held me pinned. He stood over me and laughed.

"Not so tough now, are you, Mercy?" he leered down at me. "I think maybe I'll drain you dry, just like I did Sophia. You're First Born. Your blood will make me even stronger than I already am. And then no one will be able to stop me."

With a flash of fangs, he started to lower himself towards me. I whipped my sword up and simply let Jimmy impale himself upon the blade. It slid neatly up beneath the breastbone and into his heart. His body jerked for a moment then went limp. I quickly rolled to the side and let his body fall to the floor. Getting to my feet and rolling him onto his side, I wrenched my sword free.

"Yeah, Jimmy, you're strong, but not very bright," I said and stepped back a bit to watch Vero's flesh melt away.

When we fade, we don't necessarily simply dissolve into a pile of dust. The state of the vampire's corpse depends on how old that particular vampire is. I am old enough, that I would become a pile of dust, but Jimmy had only been a vampire for a little more than a year. So, upon his fading, his body was quickly reduced to the level of decomposition of a year old corpse. It wasn't pretty.

I heaved a relieved sigh. I had never had so much trouble with a hunt before. I definitely needed a vacation. I turned, intending to head back to the bedroom, but found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. At some point during my fight with Jimmy, Nick had regained consciousness and had retrieved his weapon.

He stood pointing it at me, looking pale and frightened. His entire body was shaking so badly that he could barely keep the barrel steady and he occasionally swayed unsteadily on his feet. The wound on his neck was still bleeding and there was a thin trail of red trickling down his bare chest, reminding me uncomfortably of the drop of moisture that had so fascinated me the night before. There was also blood oozing down the left side of his face, from a gash on his temple, where his head had impacted with the wall. I wasn't sure how much longer he was going to remain conscious.

"Nick, what's going on? Put the gun down," I said, trying to sound reasonable, not sure how much he had seen.

"What are you?" he whispered, wide-eyed. "There's no way you should have survived a fight with that animal. And I heard what he said to you. What's a First Born?"

Okay, apparently he had seen and heard plenty. This was not good. "Nick, I can explain," I said soothingly, taking a small step toward him.

"Don't!" he said sharply, his body tensing.

"Okay, okay, let's just talk ab-."

I was interrupted as we both became aware of the sounds of several approaching sirens. Nick's head turned reflexively toward the sound. Seeing his momentary distraction, I started to move toward him, but evidently, I hadn't moved quickly enough. Nick seemed almost as surprised by the report of the gun as I was and we both froze, shocked into immobility. I glanced down at the small hole in my lower chest and the trickle of blood, slowly oozing down my stomach.

I recovered from the shock first and, taking advantage of his continued torpor, I stepped closer and took the gun from his nerveless fingers. He just stared at me, his dark eyes wild and verging on panic.

"What are you?" he repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I can explain," I said gently, reaching out to caress his right cheek. It was a testament to his state of shock that he didn't even flinch away from my touch, as I had expected him to.

But before I could even begin my explanation, we both heard the sounds of many voices gathering just outside the house. Someone pounded loudly on the front door, which was still locked. I heard Brass' voice yelling Nick's name. Damn it! I swore to myself. Not now! I just needed the chance to explain myself to Nick, to somehow try and make him to understand. I couldn't stand that look of horror in his eyes as he stared at me.

I needed to get him away from here, so I could calm him down explain myself. Once the cops burst in, I would never get the chance, assuming of course, that Nick didn't immediately tell them what he had witnessed and I wasn't arrested. Knowing I only had a few seconds in which to act, I made up my mind. Nick was already so weakened that it took little more than a sharp slap from me to send him back into unconsciousness. Catching his limp body, I slung him over my shoulder, just as Vero had done earlier.

Thankfully, Nick wasn't a tall man and his body didn't hamper my movements overly much. Still hearing the voices concentrated near the house's front door, I headed back to the spare bedroom, to the broken window Jimmy had entered through. Using my bokken to sweep away the remaining shards of glass, I carefully climbed through with my limp burden.

Although I could hear voices all around me and lights were starting to come on in the neighboring houses, I didn't actually see anyone here in the small side yard. Glancing cautiously around the side of the house, I saw that my truck was still sitting in front of the house, unguarded. I hadn't taken the time to lock it. Hell, I'd left the keys in the ignition, so I only needed to sprint across the lawn to where it sat waiting.

Hearing the sound of splintering wood, I figured the cops had finally succeeded in breaking down the door. Apparently no one had noticed the smashed front window. With everyone's attention now focused on entering the house, I saw my chance to make a break for the SUV. I sprinted quietly across the short distance to the vehicle and opened the door. The keys were still right where I had left them.

Dumping Nick unceremoniously onto the driver's seat, I pushed him across to the passenger side, where he lay in a crumpled heap. I climbed in after him and started the engine. This finally drew the attention of a few of the cops still outside, but I ignored their commands to exit the vehicle and sped away into the night.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

10/23/05

Chapter 6

--We interrupt this previously established 1st person story, to give you the Other Side of the story.--

It was with an ominous sense of deja vu that Gil Grissom approached the small house, his kit in hand. The normally quiet neighborhood was filled with people, despite the lateness of the hour. Cops moved about on the lawn and neighbors milled around, many still in their pajamas, held back by the bright yellow crime scene tape. It was a scene just like a hundred others Gil had been called to over the years, but this wasn't just any crime scene. This small, quaint house belonged to Nick Stokes, one of Gil's team members, one of his guys.

With a deep, calming breath, Gil lifted the yellow tape and ducked underneath it. He saw the stocky figure of Capt. Brass moving purposefully towards him, as he approached the ruined front door.

"Gil, why don't you let someone from Days handle this," the detective said, laying a hand on the investigator's arm.

The scientist said nothing, just fixed his long-time associate with a steady glare. The detective immediately backed down, giving a slight shrug, knowing that look.

"Okay," he said, in a resigned tone. "But it's pretty bad in there. It looks like a war zone. Something very bad went down in that house."

Gil pursed his lips for moment, a look of profound distaste crossing his face. He gave a slight sigh and seemed to mentally brace himself before stepping through the splintered door frame and into the house.

Setting his case down, he simply stood for a long time, just inside the doorway, looking into the living room and mentally cataloguing the evidence before him. Quite understandably, his eyes moved to the strangely, and illogically, desiccated corpse lying in the center of the room, first. It was with more relief than he cared to admit, that he noted the body was entirely too tall to be Nick.

But of course it wasn't Nick, Gil told himself sharply. The younger man had been alive only a few hours ago. This body had obviously been dead for several months at least. Gil gave himself a mental jab and forced himself to continue with his observations.

The furniture was all askew, as if it had been pushed aside during a struggle. Several spent shell casings lay scattered across the floor. The upper part of the wall and the ceiling opposite him were spattered with blood. On the wall beside him was a faint red smear, presumably more blood, although less definitively so. Many more blood drops littered the floor like red confetti. Completing this inappropriately festive analogy, fragments of glass lay everywhere, glittering like tiny gems in the overhead light. The front window had been smashed from the outside in and with considerable force. Brass had been right. Something very bad had happened here. And Nick had been right in the middle of it.

Turning abruptly on his heel, Grissom walked back out of the house. He found Brass speaking with one of the uniformed officers. The investigator waited until the detective was finished before he moved closer.

"Who made the 911 call?" Gil asked.

Brass consulted his notes. "That would be Ruth Neussbaum, Nick's neighbor to the east. She reported hearing shots fired around 1 am."

"I want to talk to her."

"She's right over here."

The detective led the entomologist over to where a tiny woman in her early sixties, wearing a shapeless, purple dressing gown, stood chatting with a young, female officer.

"Mrs. Neussbaum, this is Gil Grissom, from the Crime Lab," Brass said, making the introductions.

"Oh? Do you work with Nicholas?" the older woman asked in a nasal Long Island accent. Despite the hour, her short, white hair was perfectly coiffed and Gil noted that she was even wearing lipstick.

"Yes, ma'am, I do. I'm his supervisor," Grissom answered.

"I just don't understand it. Why would anyone want to hurt Nicholas? He's such a nice young man. He helps me with my yard work whenever my arthritis is acting up, helps me carry in the groceries if he happens to be around when I come back from the store... He's good boy. Why would anyone hurt him?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Neussbaum," the investigator said gently, touched by the genuine concern in the older woman's voice. "Right now, we're not really sure what happened to Nick. I'm hoping you can help shed some light on that. Can you tell me everything you heard before you called 911?"

"Well, I was having trouble sleeping, again. I tell you, Mr. Grissom, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in five years, since my Irving died. I still haven't gotten used to sleeping alone. Anyway, I was watching one of those late night talk shows. I don't really enjoy them, but they're the only thing on at that hour that isn't all sex and violence, so what're you going to do?

"Anyway, the show had just ended and I was just thinking about going to bed, when I heard these loud bangs, like firecrackers going off, but much louder. And it sounded like it was coming from Nicholas' house. Well, as I'm sure you understand, after his little... mishap a few months ago, I was very concerned about him. I started to go to the window, to check on him, when I heard him scream."

"Scream?" Gil repeated.

"Yes, Mr. Grissom, scream. It sounded like he was in pain. Well, that's when I called 911. While I was still on the phone with that operator-person, I heard this tremendous crash. For a minute, I thought Nicholas' house was going to collapse. Then I heard sounds, like a fight, and finally I heard the sirens approaching. That's when I heard the other gunshot."

"How many shots did you hear the first time?"

"Oh... three, no, four... Yes, it was definitely four."

"And there was only a single gunshot the second time?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Neussbaum, you've been very helpful."

"Mr. Grissom? Please, find Nicholas. He's a good man. Oy, and so good looking! It's a pity he's not Jewish. I have some nieces I would love to introduce him to... He doesn't deserve all these bad things that keep happening to him. You find him!"

"We will, Mrs. Neussbaum. We've done it before."

As the investigator turned away from the woman, Brass stepped up to detain him.

"Sergeant Collins, over here, saw something I think you need to hear about," the detective said, leading the other man over to the uniformed officer he had been speaking to earlier.

He was a large, African-American, in his early forties, with closely cropped, dark hair, heavily salted with gray. He stood in the standard cop pose, feet set wide, hands resting comfortably on his gun belt. He nodded politely to Grissom when Brass introduced the two men.

"Sergeant, please tell Mr. Grissom what you told me a few minutes ago," Brass prompted.

"When we arrived at the scene, I was ordered to secure the perimeter of the house. I had just given out assignments to my men, when I saw someone running away from the house, carrying a body over their shoulder. The suspect ran to a dark-colored SUV that was parked out front. The suspect dumped the body in the vehicle then climbed in. My men and I ordered the suspect to exit the vehicle, but they drove away.

"I'm sorry, sir, I should have had someone secure the vehicle right away, but with all the activity and confusion, I didn't even notice it until I saw the suspect running toward it. I take full responsibility for the suspect getting away."

"Don't beat yourself up," Brass said softly. "I didn't notice it either. We were all too focused on the house. You didn't screw up any worse than the rest of us did."

"Could you see the faces of either the suspect or the 'body'?" Grissom asked.

"No, sir, it was too dark and they were too far away," the sergeant responded.

"Could you tell if either was a woman?"

"A woman, sir? Uh, the 'body' wasn't wearing a shirt. I remember that, so it was definitely a man. Since the suspect was carrying the other male, and fairly easily, I assumed it was another man. It seemed a little big for a woman, but I couldn't definitely say that it wasn't."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Grissom said and started back toward the house.

"What was that about?" Brass asked, dismissing the officer and jogging to catch up to the investigator. "Why did you ask about a woman? What are you thinking?"

"Well, didn't you say on the phone, when you called me, that Agent Trudeau abruptly left the nightclub in a hurry? Did she come here? If she did, then where is she? And if she didn't, then where did she go?"

"Good questions," the detective said, reaching for his cell phone.

While he attempted to reach the missing FBI agent, the rest of the team arrived, ready to work.

"Where do you want us?" Catherine asked simply.

"Catherine, you and I will be working inside the house. Warrick, Sara, I want you two to take the perimeter. Greg, I don't want some new hire to be handling the DNA we collect tonight, not on this case. I want you to test all the DNA evidence we collect here."

"You got it," the younger man said without hesitation.

"Thank you, until we have something for you, why don't you look through Nick's SUV. I don't really think there'll be anything probative, but check anyway... Okay, let's get to work," Gil said softly.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"I can honestly say that I have never seen a body in this condition before," Doc Robbins told Grissom several hours later, while the two men stood in the morgue, examining the shrunken husk that had been removed from Nick's living room. "It's almost been mummified, but not quite. See how well preserved the skin is? Generally in a case of natural mummification, the internal organs would be in roughly the same shape as the skin, but there's almost nothing left here, except for the heart. For some reason, it held up reasonably well, aside from the hole in the middle of it."

The shriveled body lay on the stainless steel slab, looking like something dredged up from a swamp. The skin had that same wrinkled, leathery look of the bodies that had been recovered from bogs in Britain and Europe. All of the victim's hair was still present, including the eyelashes and eyebrows. Beneath the still open Y-incision, it was another matter. The inside of the body looked almost gutted, as though everything had been removed, except for the blood vessels and the heart, as Robbins had pointed out. It looked shriveled and brown like a giant raisin.

"So, what does all this mean?" Grissom asked.

"I don't really know. This body wasn't embalmed and yet it shows no evidence of insect or bacterial activity. Do you know how the body was stored, before it was dumped at Nick's house?"

"We don't know for sure that it was. As far as we know, this man was alive last night."

"That's not possible," Robbins said without hesitation. "There is no way this level of mummification could happen in a few hours."

"Well, can you tell how old this body is?"

"Not precisely. At a rough estimate, I would say a few months at least, but it's hard to say for sure without knowing how the body was stored or buried."

"Can you tell me how this man died?" Gil asked.

"Well, you've got a couple of options. I found four 9mm bullets in the chest cavity, all in the vicinity of the heart." The coroner produced a small plastic bag with four bullets in it, which he handed to the investigator.

"Your second option is the before mentioned hole in the heart," Robbins continued. "Something pierced the chest, just beneath the breastbone and went right through the heart. I found a few black splinters embedded along the edge of the sternum. I already had them sent to Hodges in Trace."

"You can't tell which of these actually killed him?"

"Not at this point, but any one of the shots or the stab wound would have been fatal."

Gil sighed heavily. "Have a tissue sample from the body sent to Greg in DNA. He's going to be handling all the DNA for this case."

"Not taking any chances on a new person screwing anything up?" Robbins asked.

"Not when Nick's life could be on line."

"So, you really do believe that Nick could be in danger?"

"He's missing. I have to believe that if he was physically capable of it, he would have called one of us, to let us know if he was alright. That hasn't happened."

------------------------------------------------------------

The team, along with Jim Brass, had gathered around the large break room table and was discussing the evidence they had gathered so far. It was early afternoon. Nick had been missing for over 12 hours. Grissom began the meeting by sharing Doc Robbins' findings about the condition of the body.

"I gave the bullets Doc Robbins recovered from the body to Bobby Dawson," Gil continued. "He matched all four bullets to Nick's gun... Who printed the gun?"

"I did," Catherine spoke up. "I found two sets of prints. I matched one set to Nick. The others are unknown. They're not in any of the databases.

"Now, I found those same prints all over Nick's house, including the bedroom. Personally, I think we can assume they're Mercy's."

Catherine turned to Brass. "As an FBI agent, shouldn't her prints be in the system?"

"You know, Warrick and I found those same unknown prints on the outside of Nick's house as well," Sara spoke up "including on the sill of Nick's bedroom window."

"Really?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah. Look, what do we know about this Special Agent Trudeau? I mean, do we know for sure that she really works for the FBI? How many FBI agents work alone? Don't they always work in pairs at least?"

"I spoke with someone from the field office in New Orleans," Brass said. "But their files and offices are in such chaos after Hurricane Katrina that they couldn't tell me anything about her. They directed me to someone at Quantico, who was very unhelpful. They claim that because Mercy is assigned to 'special' cases, her prints, and DNA, by the way, are off limits. They cited something about national security."

"Did you explain that we have a missing investigator and Agent Trudeau could possibly be involved in his disappearance, that at the very least, she may have information which could help us find Nick?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, I did. They told me it wasn't their problem. Not in those words, of course, but that was the gist of the conversation."

Gil sat back in his chair and passed a hand over his mouth, obviously struggling to keep his temper in check. After a few seconds, he seemed to master himself and he turned to Greg.

"Greg, why don't you tell everyone about your interesting DNA findings?" the supervisor suggested, his voice tight.

"Okay, I got three separate DNA samples from the blood that you and Catherine collected from the house," the younger man spoke up. "The blood smear on the east wall was Nick's. I matched it to the toothbrush you brought me. The rest of the blood you collected is where things get kinda funky.

"The blood spatter from the west wall and ceiling contains at least four identifiable DNA strains. There were others as well, but I couldn't identify them."

"What?" Catherine said. "Was this from transfer? Whose DNA was identified?"

"I don't see how it could've been from transfer. I identified Nick's DNA, the first victim, Daniel Rosen's, the second victim, Michael Preston's, and Jimmy Vero's. His DNA was on file from an earlier rape conviction. There was also this strange, mutated DNA present which wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before.

"I found this mutated DNA present in the third sample collected as well. The blood drops from the floor. Again, it contained lots of different DNA strains. The only one I could identify was Nick's."

"So, Nick's DNA was present in all of the blood samples?" Catherine asked.

"Yes."

The redhead groaned and threw her hands up in frustration. "Nothing in this case makes any sense! I mean, unless at some point, Nick has bled on every surface of his house, including his ceiling, how is this possible?"

"What about the torn sweatshirt found in the bedroom?" Grissom asked. "It had blood on it as well."

"The blood around the neck was Nick's. The smear on the front was the Vero mixture," Greg answered.

"Well, the bottom line of all this, is that Nick was bleeding. So, he sustained some sort of an injury during the altercation," Warrick said softly. "He could've been shot. There's still one bullet from his gun that's unaccounted for."

A heavy silence followed these statements as everyone's thoughts drifted to their missing team member. After a minute or two, Grissom pulled them all back to the present.

"Did anyone talk to Hodges? Doc Robbins sent a splinter, collected from the body, to him?" Gil asked.

"Uh, yeah, I did," Sara said, shaking herself out of her reverie. "He identified the splinter as wood, white oak, to be precise. He said the black stuff on it was carbon. Apparently at some point the wood was charred."

"Well, that's not very helpful," Warrick commented, discouraged.

"Greg, did you get a chance to test the tissue sample from the body that Robbins sent over?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah, the body in the morgue is definitely Jimmy Vero."

"Well, how can that be?" Brass asked. "How can that shriveled corpse be Vero? We all saw him at the nightclub just a few days ago."

"Did we?" Warrick asked. "We didn't see anything. Mercy claimed she saw Vero. None of us have ever seen him. We've seen a shadowy image on a security tape, but we've never seen him."

"What are you saying, Warrick?" Sara asked. "That Mercy's known all along that Vero was already dead? That she faked this whole thing? That maybe she's the killer and she's just been carting Vero's dead body around?"

The African-American sighed heavily. "I don't know what I'm saying. But it is a possible explanation."

"Yeah, but it doesn't explain Vero's DNA at the scene," Greg pointed out.

"Or his fingerprints," Sara added. "Remember, we found his fingerprints around the broken window in the spare bedroom of Nick's house."

The other man gave a slight shrug, conceding these points.

"Okay, forgetting about Vero's body for the moment, which is just giving me a headache," Sara said. "And assuming that Mercy was present at the house, which I realize, thanks to the FBI we can't even confirm, and assuming that she was the one who took Nick, why would she do that? I realize that Nick was injured. Maybe she thought to get him medical treatment right away. But we checked all the local hospitals and medical centers. She never took him to any of them."

"Is it even possible for her to take Nick?" Greg asked. "I mean, assuming that Nick was the 'body' the sergeant saw being carried out of the house, would Mercy be strong enough to carry Nick like that?"

"Well, Nick may be buff, but he's still pretty skinny," Warrick said. "I mean, he probably weighs, what, 160, max. Mercy isn't a small woman. She's probably the same height as Nick and probably weighs a good 140-150 herself. I don't see why she couldn't carry him like that."

"Okay, so we've established that she physically could do it, but we still don't know why she did it," Sara persisted.

"Maybe Mercy suspected that Vero wasn't working alone," Brass suggested. "Maybe she thought Nick was still in danger and she took him for his own protection."

"But there's never been any evidence to suggest that Vero had a partner," Grissom said. "And, strange DNA samples aside, there's nothing to indicate that there was a fourth person at that house."

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," Catherine spoke up. "Maybe Mercy taking Nick had nothing to do with Vero. Maybe this is personal. I mean, after everything we've all witnessed of the two of them, I think we can safely assume they've slept together. But now, with Vero dead, her job was done. Maybe Nick was happy to let the relationship remain the temporary fling it was, but Mercy didn't want it to end."

"So, you're saying that she might've pulled a 'Fatal Attraction' on him," Warrick said.

"Sure, why not? I'm sure it's very lonely for her, working on her own all the time. Nick's a very handsome, charming guy and, as the saying goes, 'Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.'"

Warrick gave a slight nod and glanced away, looking distinctly uncomfortable with this concept.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't help us explain Vero's body," Sara said, with a sigh.

"I've got an explanation," Greg volunteered.

As all eyes around the table turned to him, the younger man began to look a bit sheepish. "Okay, you all have to hear me out for a minute... Okay, what if Vero, and Mercy, were vampires?"

As the others immediately began to protest, he continued speaking in a louder voice, overriding their denials. "Think about it, it answers all our questions. It explains the mixed DNA samples. It explains why Nick's blood was present in both samples. At some point in time, they both drank Nick's blood. It explains the mutated strain. Maybe vampirism is some kind of a virus that causes the DNA to mutate, causes the body to mutate.

"It explains why Vero's body looks the way it does. Assuming he's been a vampire for about a year, which by the way, is roughly the same amount of time he's been out of prison, then when he 'died' again, his body simply returned to its 'natural' state. It explains the four bullets in the chest. Bullets don't kill vampires. But a wooden stake does, which explains the wood splinters on the sternum.

"It also explains why the FBI is being so uncooperative about giving us Mercy's fingerprints or DNA. They might prove what she is, which could also explain why Mercy took Nick. He saw more than he was supposed to."

"Greg, half of your assumption is based on the idea that the FBI is knowingly hiring vampires," Catherine pointed out.

"Yeah, to hunt down other, more dangerous, vampires."

"I'd say you've been watching too many 'X-Files' marathons on TV," Grissom said.

"Maybe," Greg said calmly, "but unlike all of your theories, mine explains everything."

Another heavy silence followed, as everyone tried to think of some concrete piece of evidence with which to refute this ridiculous theory. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"How are we coming with the search for Mercy?" Gil asked, turning to Brass, deciding to simply ignore the current discussion for now.

"Oh, uh, Archie and I contacted her cell phone provider. They say that her phone has been inactive since well before Nick's disappearance. She's probably turned it off, possibly even ditched it. I did manage to get her government-issued credit card number from the car rental company where she got her SUV. The credit card company is tracking the number. They're going to get back to me on what her most recent purchases are.

"In the meantime, I've got a state-wide BOLO out for the SUV. If, or when, it's spotted, I'll be contacted, but these things take time," Brass said.

"Alright, everybody, let's go back to the evidence. There's got to be something there that will help us. We just have to find it," Grissom said.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Roughly an hour later, Brass returned to the lab. He rounded up the team and had them follow him to the AV lab, where they all converged on a surprised Archie.

"I think we just got a break," the detective informed them. "I got a call from Mercy's credit card company. About an hour and a half after the 911 call this morning, she stopped at a 24-hour Wal-Mart on the north end of town and went on a bit of a shopping spree. I contacted the store and they faxed me a list of the things she bought. I also had a uniform go down and collect their surveillance camera tapes."

The detective handed a VHS tape to Archie, so the technician could cue it up, while Brass read the list of items Mercy had purchased, to the team.

"She bought several bottles of water, several bottles of Pedia-Lite, whatever that is."

"It's a glucose-electrolyte solution that you give to kids when they're throwing up," Catherine explained. "It's kind of like Gatorade, but it absorbs into the blood stream faster and more effectively. Sounds like she could be trying to re-hydrate Nick. Maybe he lost more blood than we realize."

"Could be," Brass agreed. "She also bought several containers of orange juice, bandages and antiseptic, a sleeping bag, two men's large sweatshirts and a pair of men's jeans... What do you think, clothes for Nick?"

"Or herself," Sara said. "She could be trying to change her appearance somewhat."

"What's with the sleeping bag? Is she planning on roughing it?" Greg asked.

"Could be," Catherine mused. "It could also mean that Nick's in shock and she's trying to keep him warm."

"Okay, I think I've found her on the tape," Archie spoke up and everyone turned to look at the monitor.

The camera showed a blurry image of a woman entering the store. They could tell that she was tall and had short, dark hair, but the face was strangely obscured. The woman shown was wearing a dark pant suit much like the one which Mercy had been seen wearing earlier.

"That's got to be her," Catherine commented. "But what's with the image? Can you clean it up, Archie?"

"Nope, we had the same problem with the image of Vero before. I don't know what it is."

"She's alone. Nick's not with her," Warrick commented.

"Well, according to Sergeant Collins, Nick wasn't wearing a shirt," Sara said. "He probably wasn't wearing shoes either, so, no service for him."

Warrick flashed a weak grin at his colleague, acknowledging her attempt at humor.

"Look at her shirt," Catherine said. "She's got it buttoned all the way up to her neck. When I saw her earlier, she was showing a bit more skin. And she's got her jacket buttoned up as well."

"Well, maybe she didn't escape from the altercation completely unscathed either," Grissom said. "Maybe she's trying to hide her injuries, or blood stains."

"Which would also explain the new clothes," Sara said.

"Did anyone talk to the cashier that waited on Mercy?" Grissom asked the detective.

"Yeah, I had the uniform interview her. She said that she remembered Mercy, largely because she seemed very 'antsy', but that was about it... Anyway, what we know, for sure, is that an hour and a half after the 911 call, Mercy was on the northwest end of town. Where was she headed? Further up state? Or was she planning to turn west and head into California?"

"Well, if she was heading to California, with her head start, she's already there," Grissom said.

"Yeah, I've already notified California Highway Patrol. They're going to keep a look out for her SUV," Brass said. "But if she's smart, she's already ditched the SUV and switched to a different vehicle. Just to be on the safe side, I also notified the Arizona and Utah State Police."

"Did she use the card again after the War-Mart stop?" Gil asked.

"Yeah, she stopped at an ATM and made a large cash withdrawal," Brass said. "She's not going to use the card again. She knows we can track it... Unfortunately, we seem to be at an impasse. Until we get a tip from one of the Highway Patrols, we have no idea where she took Nick."

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

10/31/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 7

Leaving the Wal-Mart, I returned to the SUV, which I had parked at the very back of the parking lot. Nick was still unconscious in the passenger seat. Thankfully no one seemed to have taken note of the half-naked, bloody man passed out in the front seat of the vehicle and called the police.

I dumped everything I had purchased onto the back seat, except for the sleeping bag. This, I unzipped and wrapped around Nick, who was shivering visibly, despite the fact that I had the heat cranked up. Checking his pulse, to make sure he was still doing alright, I found his heart rate slightly erratic, but strong.

I climbed back in the SUV and headed for the highway. Merging onto Interstate 95, I headed northwest, away from the city. But I had only gone a few miles before I saw a sign telling me there was a rest area ahead. I pulled off the highway when I reached it.

As it was around 3 in the morning, the rest area was deserted, just as I had anticipated. Once again, I parked in an out of the way spot. Turning the overhead, dome light on, I turned to Nick. With some difficulty, I managed to rouse him. He blinked at me groggily. I reached around to the back and pulled out one of the bottles of Pedia-Lite. I opened it and handed it to him, telling him to drink.

While he dutifully sipped from the bottle, I produced the bandages and antiseptic. As gently as I could, I cleaned the wound on his neck, using a section of cloth torn from my blouse. He hissed loudly and grimaced as the antiseptic made contact with the open wound. I taped a large bandage over the wound and repeated the procedure with the cut on his temple.

Taking out the small flashlight I carried in my purse, I ordered Nick to hold still, while I shined the light into his right eye. The pupil reacted to the light, but contracted rather sluggishly. I moved the light to his left eye. The hugely dilated left pupil did not react at all. As I had suspected, he was concussed.

With my admittedly miniscule medical knowledge now exhausted, I pulled the sleeping bag back up to cover him and said, "I'm going in to the restroom for a few minutes. I'll be right back. You stay awake and keep drinking."

Grabbing the jeans and one of the sweatshirts from the back, I climbed out of the vehicle and headed for the small, brick building. In the women's bathroom, I changed into the new clothes. I also took the opportunity to wash the blood off and make myself a little more presentable. The wounds on my neck and lower chest were already starting to heal over.

I took my bloody suit and stuffed it into the trash can as I headed out of the bathroom. Back outside, I quickly noticed that a blue pick-up truck, with a matching cap attached to the bed, had entered the lot and was now parked right beside my SUV. I was instantly on my guard. I mean, the entire parking lot was empty, why would someone park right beside my vehicle way in the back?

Sure enough, as I approached the two vehicles, two burly men in jeans and baseball caps stepped out of the shadows and began walking towards me. They were both tall and beefy, with unshaved faces and greasy hair. As they moved closer, I could smell the sweat and stale beer on them.

"Well, hello there, Darlin'," one of the men called to me. He was wearing a tan Carhartt jacket and had a huge silver belt buckle. "What's a pretty, little lady like you doing out in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?"

"I'm not alone," I said calmly.

"Yeah, but your boyfriend doesn't look too good. I don't think he's going to be of much help to you."

I glanced past Bubba to the SUV and saw that, just as he'd said, Nick had fallen back to sleep. He appeared to be oblivious to the world. I wasn't concerned. I didn't really need his help anyway. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. In fact, I was rather glad that Nick wouldn't witness what I was planning to do. After all, I had lost a fair amount of blood as well.

Turning my attention back to the two men before me, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at them calmly. "And what would I need his help for?" I asked.

"Well, my friend and I are looking to have a little party. We think you're going to join us."

"And if I don't want to join your party?"

"I'm not asking you, Sweetheart, I'm telling you," the man said, a nasty leer crossing his face. "So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. How much pain is involved is entirely up to you."

"Oh, I'll cooperate. Please, don't hurt me," I said, in a mock simpering tone.

He continued to leer at me, oblivious to my sarcasm then glanced over his shoulder to his buddy who was still standing a few feet behind him.

"You keep an eye on the boyfriend. If he wakes up, take him out. You can have your turn when I'm done," the first man said.

Grumbling somewhat at this arrangement, the second man, who was wearing a dark green, down vest and a camouflage cap, headed back to stand beside the vehicles. I watched him for a few minutes. If either Bubba, here, or his buddy, Uncle Ted, made a single move to hurt Nick, there would be hell to pay. Granted, I had decided these two men were going to die, the minute they'd made it clear they wanted to rape me, but, as Bubba had already stated, we could do this easy way or the hard way.

I turned my attention back to Bubba as he started toward me. I forced myself not to back away in revulsion from the pungent smell of his body odor. Stepping up close, he reached a hand out toward my chest. But before that hand could make contact with flesh, I grabbed it and squeezed with all my strength. I heard several faint popping sounds as I snapped all four of his fingers and crushed a few small bones in his hand.

He started to howl in pain, but I cut his cries off short as I jerked him closer and sank my teeth into his neck. It took less than fifteen minutes to drain him. With a satisfied sigh, I let his body slump to the pavement and wiped my mouth with one hand. Oh, yes, that was much better. I felt much stronger now, definitely ready to deal with Uncle Ted.

As I approached the second man, he looked up from contemplating his boots. He seemed surprised to find me standing so close to him. We vampires can move very quietly when we choose to. I smiled at him invitingly. He didn't seem convinced. He tried to look around me for his partner.

"H-hey, what happened to Vince?" he stammered, apparently unnerved by bloody my smile. I can't imagine why.

"I think I wore him out," I said innocently. "And now it's your turn."

Using my inhumanly fast reflexes, I grabbed the back of the man's head and slammed it down on the hood of the pick-up. The camouflage cap went flying into the scrub brush nearby. I let his body slither down the side of the truck and flop onto the ground. Bending down, I checked his pulse. It was still strong. Good, I had plans for him later.

I checked his pockets for the keys to the truck, but didn't find them. Evidently Bubba had been the one driving. Walking back over to the large body of the first man, I found the keys in the pocket of his Carhartt. I noted the metal key chain was in the shape of a well-endowed naked woman and an equally well-endowed, naked man in a very sexually suggestive position and if you pulled on a lever on the side, the two people moved on a hinge and appeared to be having sex... Oh, yes, our Bubba was classy one. I can't imagine why it was that he couldn't seem to find a woman without ambushing her in a deserted rest area.

Returning to the truck, I unlocked it and looked inside. There were a couple of toolboxes and other junk stowed behind the bench seat. Rummaging around, I found a length of strong, nylon twine, which was perfect for my plans. Pulling the twine out, I used it to securely bind Uncle Ted then I picked him up and carried him around to the back of the truck. Unlocking the door of the cap, I dumped him into the bed of the truck then closed and locked the door again.

After transferring my stuff into the pick-up truck, I once again roused Nick and helped him climb inside. He still had the sleeping bag wrapped around him and he suddenly looked very young, like a small child, grumpy from having their nap interrupted. After I got him settled on the passenger side, I moved around and climbed in behind the wheel.

Looking around him in dazed confusion, Nick asked, "What's going on? Where are we going? And what stinks?"

It was then, that I too noticed that the truck smelled strongly of sweat, cigarette smoke, stale beer and wet dog.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it, just roll your window down a little," I said, concentrating on this last question and ignoring his previous two.

He pressed the back of one hand to his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick," he whispered.

"No, you're not," I said firmly. "Here, just lie down."

I grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down to lie on his side across the bench seat, his head resting against my leg. Within minutes, he was asleep again. Starting the truck, I left the rest area, merging onto I-95 again. I continued on, heading northwest. I had no real plan. I was just making it up as I went along. I just wanted to get away from the scene, to find a quiet, out-of-the-way place where I could think and decide what I was going to do next.

I had messed up so badly. I had left Vero's body at Nick's house. I should have destroyed the body. I should have burned it and the entire house. That was how I usually dealt with the bodies. That way, even if the body was recovered and wasn't completely consumed by the fire, it would be compromised enough not to leave any real evidence of vampires. But there hadn't been time and I had been too busy worrying about Nick, that I hadn't done my job properly. And now the top crime lab in the country had the body of a vampire in their morgue.

I am such an idiot! I silently berated myself. What the hell is the matter with me? I should have torched the house, gotten Nick out of there and left him for the police to deal with. But no, I had taken him with me! What the hell was I thinking?

I glanced down at the man in question, still sleeping against my leg, and almost of its own volition, my hand reached down to stroke the dark, silky head. He stirred slightly at my touch and mumbled something unintelligible. I pulled the sleeping bag back up from where it had slipped a bit, exposing one bare shoulder. I heaved a resigned sigh, acknowledging to myself that if I had had the opportunity to do the fight over again, I still would have taken Nick with me.

I don't know how long I drove, but we were now passing the Area 51 military site. I had passed a couple of highway patrol cars, but so far, they hadn't shown any interest in me. Hopefully they were still looking for a black SUV.

We had almost passed by Area 51, when I began to see signs for Lee Canyon Ski Area. Also seeing signs telling me that the junction for Highway 157 was approaching, which, according to my little GPS unit, would take me up to Charleston Peak, I decided to head that way. Exiting off the freeway, I got onto the almost deserted, two-lane highway, now headed somewhat south and west, into the mountains that had previously been on my left.

The temperature dropped steadily as the car climbed into the higher elevations. By dawn, we were well into the mountains and I saw a road sign advertising cabins which could be rented at a resort just off the highway some miles ahead. Deciding this was as good as any place to stop for a while, I pulled off the highway when I reached the exit and followed the road to the large resort. It was late morning by the time we arrived at the large, multi-story building, which stood against a backdrop of trees and low mountains.

As it was mid-week and still early in the season, too early for skiing at any rate, there were very few cars in the resort's parking lot. Continuing past the resort, I came to the small, cinderblock building that was evidently where one went to rent one of the cabins. It only took me a few minutes to secure a cabin for the next couple of days. I had rented it using a fake name and ID, one of many I had stashed in my purse.

I had requested the most secluded cabin they had and the blue-haired, grandmother-type behind the counter had glanced out the large window at the front of the office and had apparently caught sight of Nick still sleeping in the cab, his head resting against the window of the truck. She looked back at me with a cheeky grin and a wink and said that she had just thing for me. She slid a key across the counter to me and I saw that it bore a small, wooden plaque, with the words 'CABIN 12' carved into it. She also gave me a map of the resort area, which showed the many hiking/biking/cross-country ski trails.

"If you two manage to squeeze in a little hiking time, that is," Grandma said, with another too-familiar grin. Glancing out at Nick again, she added, "Although he looks pretty worn out already."

I forced a smile, took the key and the map, and returned to the truck. The cabin we had been assigned to was at the very end of the long dirt road and was set well back from it, nestled cozily among the trees. It was a small, wood-shingled structure, with a deep front porch and a stone chimney along one side. Parking the truck at the rear of the cabin, I climbed out and let myself in the back door.

Inside, it was simply one large room. There was a kitchenette area, a dining area and seating area, which included a large, stone fireplace, already well-stocked with wood, but everything was completely open. Just past the kitchenette area, was a staircase which led up to a loft where there was an open bedroom. Just past the staircase was a small bathroom. The cabin was clean and neat, if a bit Spartan.

Returning to the truck, I roused Nick and helped him inside. He was still confused and groggy, but too weak and nauseated to protest much. I settled him on the couch then brought the rest of the things from the truck inside. I left Uncle Ted tied up in the bed of the truck. A few hours earlier, he had regained consciousness and had started making a lot of noise. Worried that he would wake Nick, I had pulled of the road and silenced him. I had drunk just enough of his blood to put him out for an extended nap. I didn't want to kill him, just yet. Hopefully I would be needing him later.

Back inside the cabin, I busied myself starting a fire. It was rather chilly in the cabin and I didn't want Nick getting ill on top of the blood loss and concussion. He sat on the couch, wrapped in the sleeping bag and watched me silently. Once I had a cheerful little fire going, I went to the kitchen area and took out a bottle of orange juice from the small refrigerator and returned to the couch. I handed the bottle to Nick. He accepted it without comment. I sat down on the thick, brown rug in front of the couch and we stared at each other for a long time.

Finally, Nick asked, "Why did you bring me here?"

"I don't really know," I answered, which of course, wasn't entirely true.

"Why didn't you just kill me back at my house?"

I didn't answer right away. That was, of course, exactly what I should have done. Nick had seen too much, according to Vampire Law, I shouldn't have let him live.

"Because I don't want you dead," I finally said, which I realized, was the whole truth.

"What are you and Vero?"

"What do you think we are?"

He didn't answer. He just turned away to stare into the fire. He knew what we were. He was an intelligent man and, as much as he wanted to deny it, he'd seen the evidence with his own eyes. He just couldn't bring himself to say the word: vampire.

"What are you going to do with me?" he whispered, still staring at the flames.

"I don't know. That depends on you."

He turned to look at me. "What does that mean?"

"I want you to join me."

"I don't understand... You want me to... become like you?"

"Yes."

He looked away again, towards the fire. I saw that he was chewing his lower lip and he was twisting the edge of the sleeping bag between slightly shaking fingers. I wanted to reach up and pull him into my arms, to stroke his head and comfort him, but I knew he would only push me away.

After several minutes of this uncomfortable silence, I finally scooted closer to the couch and placed my hands on his thighs. I felt his body tense at my touch, but he didn't pull away. Granted, he still wouldn't look at me either.

"It's not so bad, Nick," I said softly. "You would never grow old. You would never get sick again. You would be young and beautiful forever. You'd be stronger and faster than you've ever been. You'd be free of society's constraints and rules. You'd be completely free. And you would never have to face death again."

With these last words, he finally looked at me. His dark eyes were pained and slightly haunted. "But you are dead, Mercy," he whispered.

"Do I look dead to you?" I asked. Reaching under the sleeping bag, I slid my hand up his stomach and pressed it flat against his bare chest. I could feel the rapid rhythm of his heart just beneath my palm. "Do I feel dead to you? Did I seem dead to you when I made love to you?"

What little color remained in his face, drained away at these words and he turned away from me with a slightly strangled sob. His entire body was shaking now. Unable to stand it any longer, I moved to sit on the couch beside him and pulled him into my arms. He did try to resist, but even in daylight, I was stronger than him at that moment and I held him tight. After a minute or two, he gave up and sagged against me, breathing heavily and still trembling.

I held him for a long time and gradually he calmed. "I know what you've been through, Nick," I said, stroking his hair. "I know that you've faced death before and I know that it frightens you. If you join me, you won't have to fear it anymore. It won't be able to touch you."

"But you can die, Mercy, I know you can. I saw you kill Vero," he pointed out, his voice slightly muffled against my shoulder.

"Yes, we can fade, but in Vero's case, he deserved to be executed. He was an animal and he was drawing too much attention on himself and us. You wouldn't do that. I'll help you with your transition and I won't let anything happen to you."

"What about my family and friends?" he asked quietly.

"You won't need them anymore. You'll have a whole new family."

He pulled away from me and sat up, looking at me in distress. "I can't just walk away from them! My family and my friends were there for me when I needed them most. I can't just forget that and turn my back on them."

"You won't have to," I said quickly. "You could still have contact with them. You would just have to be careful and gradually, you'll find that you don't need them anymore."

"That's not acceptable. I want to need them. They're part of me."

"Okay, okay, I'm sure we could work something out," I said, rubbing his chest soothingly. I was so close. He was listening to me, he was considering my offer. I didn't want anything negative to disturb his thoughts. Once he became a vampire, he would feel differently. Once he had drunk human blood, he would naturally find his dependence on human contact lessening. He would begin to think of them as prey and he would begin to seek companionship among his own kind. It was the natural progression.

"Do I have to kill?" he asked quietly.

Damn it, I swore silently, I was really hoping to avoid this question for a while longer. "Well, eventually, no, you won't have to," I said, vaguely.

"What do you mean by 'eventually'?"

I sighed. Okay, fine, I wasn't going to lie to him. "After the initial exchange of blood, you have to drain your first victim. I don't really know why, but if you don't kill the first victim, for some reason the transformation doesn't 'take'. Without the completed transformation, my blood will become a poison to you and you will die. You have to kill your first victim. After that, you don't have to, but Fledglings require much more blood than those of us who are older. And, while we don't have to kill... we like to. It takes Fledglings a while to learn to control this desire and their Hunger. Deaths are fairly common for the first few years."

Seeing the growing expression of horror on his face, I quickly continued, "But I'm sure you'll learn quickly, Nick. You already have a great deal of control over yourself. A few initial deaths and I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Oh, just a few deaths... is that all?" he whispered, looking stricken.

"Yes, but you can choose the victim. You don't have to randomly attack whoever comes your way. You can pick the low-lifes of the world, those who actually do deserve to die. Does that really hurt society? Think of us as tools of evolution. We weed out the bad blood."

"Who gave you the right to appoint yourself judge, jury and executioner?"

"God did! Or the devil, I haven't decided which," I snapped, standing abruptly and beginning to pace. "And really, it's the same difference either way. After all, Lucifer was an angel once, just another one of God's creations. Maybe God wanted there to be evil in the world, give you humans something to strive against. If ya'll had it too good, you'd just get fat and lazy. And then again, maybe we're doing God's work, taking out the bad element. Maybe we're really Angels of Death... or Angels of Vengeance.

"Tell me the truth, Nick, can you honestly tell me that if Walter Gordon was standing right here, in this room, you wouldn't want to rip his throat out?"

"It's not my place to decide his fate," Nick whispered, although there wasn't much conviction behind his words.

"Oh, please, he buried you alive! He left you to die, slowly and horribly, or to force you to take your own life. Who better than you to decide his fate? Or the fates of those just like him?"

Nick looked away, his eyes troubled. But I could see that he was considering my words. I was starting to wear him down.

I moved to kneel in front of him again, my hands resting on his thighs. "We could do this tonight," I said softly. "I have a First already picked out for you. He's in the back of the truck."

"What?" Nick asked, looking up at me, dazed.

"When we stopped at the rest area, he and his buddy threatened to rape me. They were pretty confident of themselves. I'm sure I'm not the first woman they threatened. They just didn't know who they were dealing with this time, but I'm sure they carried out their threats on the other women. His friend won't be hurting anyone anymore, I saw to that. But this one doesn't deserve to live either."

"Wait a minute," Nick whispered, "you're telling me, that you kidnapped someone for me to kill?"

"He's a rapist, Nick, he deserves his fate."

"According to you..."

"I'm sure every woman he has raped would agree with me."

Nick shook his head slightly, frowning, obviously trying to comprehend what I was telling him. He was trembling again and after a minute or two, he brought a shaking hand up to his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick," he whispered.

Throwing the sleeping bag aside, he stood unsteadily and looked around. I pointed toward the bathroom and he quickly disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. I sat heavily on the couch and sighed. I had screwed up. I had jumped the gun and told him about Uncle Ted too soon, but I had thought I was getting through to him. I just hoped my mistake wouldn't be irreversible. I could always force Nick to accept The Gift, but there were a lot of dangers with that option and I wasn't sure I could face them.

When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he was looking a little less green, but still quite pale. He just stood staring at me for a long moment, his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He was still shaking visibly and was unsteady on his feet.

"Nick, come here and sit down before you collapse," I said gently, patting the cushion beside me.

Reluctantly, he crossed the room and sat down. He allowed me to wrap the sleeping bag around him again. I picked up the orange juice, from where he had set it on the floor, and handed it to him. He accepted the bottle and took a long drink.

"I can't do this," he said after a moment. "My father is a state Supreme Court Justice, my mother is a lawyer. I work for the police department. Everything you're saying goes against everything I have been raised to believe. No one man has the right to sit in judgment over another. I cannot accept what you're offering me."

I sighed and nodded. I needed to think, to get some fresh air. I needed to figure out a way to get him to change his mind.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, abruptly standing. "You should get some more sleep. Drink some more of that orange juice first. Oh, and there's no phone in the cabin. I wouldn't try to go for help either. I doubt you'd get more than a few yards before you passed out. I'll be back in a bit. I won't be going too far."

I waited for a few minutes, until I was reasonably sure that he had, in fact, gone back to sleep, before I headed outside to check out these trails.

To be continued...

Author's note: Okay, so this wasn't where I was originally planning on ending this chapter. But realizing how much stuff I still had planned to cover and seeing how long the chapter already was, I decided to end it here, hence the admittedly lame ending. I just didn't want ya'll to have to wait too long for me to get this chapter finished. So, here's some shirtless Nick to tide you over.


	8. Chapter 8

11/6/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 8

It was dusk by the time I returned to the cabin. I found Nick still asleep on the couch. The fire had died down to glowing embers and the large room was quite cold. I quickly set to work building the fire back up. The cabin had a small furnace, which I also turned up. Afterward, I settled myself in a well-padded chair across from the couch and simply sat watching him sleep.

He looked so peaceful and young, lying there, even despite the faint stubble that shadowed his jaw line. He was curled up on his side, with his hands tucked under his head as a pillow. As he was lying in front of the fireplace, he brought to my mind, a child who has fallen asleep while waiting for Santa to come down the chimney.

Once again, it occurred to me that I could force him to accept The Gift. Perhaps I would be strong enough to prevent any problems from occurring. Forcing The Gift on another was against Vampire Law, but it was a law that was frequently broken and there was no real punishment for it. The results of such actions were usually punishment enough.

When The Gift was forced upon someone who received it unwillingly, it did strange things to that person. Whenever The Gift is shared, the person receiving it is changed somewhat. They become predators. It's only natural that their personalities would be altered at least a little. If a person was shy and timid before their transformation, it was only natural that they would lose some of that timidity, but for the most part, their personality would remain intact. But when The Gift was forced upon someone, for some reason, the personality changes were always far more drastic.

I had personally seen a woman who had previously been a kindergarten teacher and had been a very kind and loving person, turned into a blood-thirsty monster, who easily rivaled Jimmy Vero in ferocity, after The Gift had been forced upon her. I knew about this, because I had been dispatched to execute her. In fact, many of the vamps I was sent to execute, were those who had been transformed unwillingly.

Could I do this Nick? Could I take the chance that he might be strong enough, to stop himself from becoming a monster? Was it even possible to be 'strong' enough? No one knew exactly why it was that, those who were unwilling, so often became monsters. There were a few who hadn't become monsters, but even they hadn't survived for long. Often they would refuse to Feed and simply allowed themselves to fade.

I had said that I didn't want Nick dead. If I forced the transformation upon him, would I simply be condemning him to an even worse fate? And I knew that if he did become a monster, I would be the one ordered to execute him. Could I do that? I realized that I honestly didn't know if I could.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting there, watching him, when he stirred in his sleep. He mumbled softly and shifted around onto his back. As he did so, the sleeping bag slid off his body, to bunch up at the foot of the couch. Still half-asleep, he reached blindly around for the sleeping bag. Standing, I moved to the couch and picked it up. As I spread it over him, he opened his eyes and looked up at me.

I sat down on the edge of the couch and we just stared at each other. It was fully dark by now and, as I hadn't turned any lamps on, the only light came from the nearby fireplace. Nick looked beautiful, his dark eyes very black and his pale skin almost luminous in the dim, warm glow.

"What happens now?" he asked at last.

"I don't know," I said softly.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I should. You've seen too much. I've told you too much."

I saw fear in his dark eyes, but also a sort of terrible resignation that almost broke my heart to see. I reached out and gently caressed his jaw, enjoying the roughness of his stubble under the pad of my thumb. Slowly, I slid my hand down to his neck. I could feel his pulse racing beneath my fingers and as I pressed them lightly against the bandage that covered the wound on his neck, I felt his body shudder and arch slightly. He closed his eyes and a single tear escaped, to slide down his temple and disappear into his hair.

I leaned down close to him and whispered, "If you joined me, I wouldn't have to kill you. You would be one of us and everything would be alright."

He opened his eyes and looked up at me. "So, you're saying that others have to die, so that I can live? No, I can't exist like that."

"Nick, please..."

"No."

A sudden anger flared in me. I had risked everything to save him and now I was offering him immortality and he was turning me down. He was treating me like I was some monster like Jimmy Vero. I wasn't a monster. I was the slayer of monsters! Who the hell was this Breather to treat me like an aberration! He was nothing more than food!

With a sudden snarl, I lunged at Nick. He gasped and his body arched up against mine as my teeth penetrated his neck. His blood was as hot and sweet as I remembered. He was already so weak that it took only a couple sips, before he passed out. As I felt his body go limp beneath me, reality came crashing back down and I realized what I was doing. My anger vanished as quickly as it had flared. I released him immediately and stepped back from the couch.

Oh God, what have I done! The whole point of bringing him here was to keep him alive and here I was trying to drain him! Maybe I was more of a monster than I realized. Was there really so little separating me from the likes of Jimmy Vero? Did all it take was frustrated passion for me to breakdown completely?

With a slightly shaking hand, I checked Nick's pulse. It was there, thready and weak, but it was there. Not trusting myself to remain too close to him, I stepped back and sat in the chair on the other side of the small room. I sat for a long time, just staring at him and willing him to get stronger.

Several hours later, or maybe it was only a few minutes, I became aware that the fire was dying down again. I knew I couldn't let it die. Nick needed to stay warm. Standing, I went to the fireplace and threw on a couple more chucks of wood. Poking the embers a bit, I watched as the flames licked up greedily towards the fresh fuel.

"Well, well, I never thought I'd live to see the day that the great Mercy Trudeau was reduced to little more than a nurse maid."

I had been so distracted by my conflicted emotions that I had gotten careless. I hadn't heard the other vamp approach or taken note of the tingling along my spine. Stupid mistakes! At least I had had the presence of mind to keep my bokken handy. It was leaning up against the chair, within arms' reach. With a burst of speed, I grabbed the weapon and spun around. I had the sword at the intruder's throat before he could even make a move to defend himself.

"Hello, Mercy," the other vampire said calmly, a slight smile playing about his lips.

It took a moment for it to register in my mind, the close-cropped, blond hair, the pale green eyes, the scattering of light freckles across the nose and cheeks...

"Tristan!" I breathed in relief, letting the sword fall away from his throat.

"You're being careless, Mercy," Tristan said. "When was the last time I was able to sneak up on you? And this time I wasn't even really trying."

"Yeah," I agreed softly, feeling more than a little self-conscious. "It's this hunt. It's gotten me all worked up."

"Yes, I know. We've been paying attention."

"Oh?...We?"

"Yes, the Council," he said simply and turned away from me to look down at Nick, lying on the couch. "So, this is the one whose been causing all the problems, huh?"

I felt my stomach tighten slightly as Tristan bent closer, to get a better look at the unconscious man. The vampire put a couple of fingers under Nick's chin and turned his face toward the light.

"Well, he's certainly handsome. I'll give him that, although he doesn't look too good right now." Tristan straightened up and turned back to me. "But really, Mercy, is he worth all this trouble?"

I didn't say anything.

"His co-workers are raising hell at the Bureau. They want answers and they want your head on a platter."

"Is that who sent you, the Bureau?" I asked.

"No, so far, they're covering your ass, although I wouldn't push their patience too far. They want some answers, too. No, the Council sent me."

"What do they want?"

"They want your ass in their chamber immediately, as in, yesterday. You fucked up, Merce. They're not happy."

"I have been at the Council's beck and call for centuries," I said defensively. "I have never messed up before now. I think I deserve a little latitude."

"Mercy, you let the Las Vegas Crime Lab find Vero's body! You left evidence of yourself all over Stokes' house. You kidnapped a law enforcement officer. Did you honestly think the Council would overlook all that?"

"It doesn't matter," I said. "Alright, so they have Vero's body. So what? They're not going to be able to prove anything, not definitively. They have a body whose condition they can't explain. They have a few blood samples, which contain a mysterious DNA strain, they also can't explain. Do you honestly think Gil Grissom, one of the most respected scientists in his field, is going to stand up and say that he has proof of vampirism?"

Now, it was Tristan who was silent.

"No, he isn't," I answered for him. "Oh, the man might actually be thinking it. He might even speculate about it, privately. But he's not going to say anything publicly or professionally. He'd be the laughing stock of the entire forensic world. He has unanswered questions, but no real proof of anything."

"Alright," Tristan said at last, giving a slight shrug. "You're probably right. You can explain all this to the Council. You've got a pretty good point. They'll probably listen to you, especially if you redeem yourself by dealing appropriately with him." Tristan gestured to Nick.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, although I knew exactly what Tristan was getting at. "What would be 'appropriate'?"

The blond vampire folded his arms across his chest and gave me an exasperated look. "You know he can't live, Mercy. It's one thing to forgive questionable evidence, but it's another thing altogether to excuse an eyewitness. He's seen too much. I'm guessing that, since you brought him here, you offered him The Gift. And I'm also guessing that, since he's not in transition, he refused it... He knows too much. He has to die, Mercy. You know that. It's the Law."

"He's not going to tell anyone either," I said, a note of desperation starting to creep into my voice. "He's a scientist as well. No one would believe him either. Hell, he doesn't even have Grissom's reputation. Nick would be even less likely to be believed. Besides, his statements could be easily written off to hallucinations brought on by blood loss and head trauma."

"It doesn't work that way, Mercy, and you know it," Tristan said softly. "We cannot allow an eyewitness to live. If we allow it too often, eventually people might actually start to listen."

"Surely the Council could make an exception this once. I have never asked them for anything," I said softly. "I can't kill him," I added in a whisper.

A strangely thoughtful look came over Tristan's face and abruptly he smiled at me, almost wistfully.

"What?" I demanded, unnerved by that tender look from my long-time, killing partner.

"You're in love with him," the other vampire said simply.

"Don't be ridiculous!" I snapped.

"You are. You're in love with him. That's what all of this was about. It wasn't just the usual lust or fascination. You actually went and fell in love with him... After all these years... and he refused The Gift. God, Mercy, I'm so sorry."

"Shut up! I don't need your pity!" I turned away from him and stared angrily into the fire.

Love was not an emotion which came naturally to us vampires, but some of us did experience it from time to time. Usually it was love between two vampires, but occasionally, it was the love of a vampire for a human. Perhaps it's because vampire love is so uncommon, but when we love, we love for life, which for a vampire, is a very long time.

If a vampire loses their chosen love, it can be fatal. Yes, we actually can, and frequently do, fade from a broken heart. This was why it was considered very unwise to fall in love with a mortal, eventually they die. Now, if said mortal could be persuaded to accept The Gift, everything could work out just fine. But if the mortal refused The Gift, it could very well prove to be a death sentence for the vampire.

I felt Tristan's hands rest on my shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was unusually gentle. "It's still early yet, Mercy. Maybe your love won't have had the time to become strong enough to... I understand now why you couldn't kill him. Don't worry about it. My car is out front. Why don't you get in and wait for me. I'll take care of this. I'll be quick."

Without thinking, I spun around and grabbed Tristan by the throat, my finger digging deeply into his skin. "You touch him and I'll rip your throat out!" I spat, my face inches from his.

"Mercy!" he hissed at me in surprise. "What the hell? You know the Laws. You swore to uphold them. He has to die! Is he really more important to you than our traditions?"

"Yes!"

We stood staring at each other for a long time. I was sure Tristan was searching my eyes, trying to gauge the level of my convictions. He must have seen just how deadly serious I was. When he spoke next, there was a placating tone to his voice.

"Okay, okay, let me go. I won't hurt him, I promise," Tristan said, raising his empty hands in a gesture of surrender.

I released the other vampire and stepped back a few feet, trembling slightly and warily watching him massage his throat for a few minutes.

"I don't know what you think you accomplished with that," He said, after a minute, straightening his immaculate, dark suit. "You realize that the Council will just send someone else, someone a lot less sympathetic to you than I am. What are you going to do then? Go on the run with him?"

"If I have to," I said defiantly.

"Look at him, Mercy, he won't survive that. He's in pretty bad shape right now. He needs proper medical attention. But you can't take him to a clinic. He'll tell them you kidnapped him. If you try to run with him, he'll die and you will have marked yourself for execution for no reason."

"Shut up!" I shouted, turning away from Tristan and pacing around the small cabin. I knew that everything he was saying was true. God, I had messed up so very badly! And I really didn't see anyway for Nick and I, both, to get out of this predicament alive. With a sigh, I came to my decision.

"Tristan, he's not a threat," I said, turning back to face my one-time partner, trying very hard to control my emotions and sound calm and reasonable. "I'll talk to him. I'll make sure he understands that he can't tell anyone anything. He's an intelligent man. He'll understand. No one is going to listen to one man, claiming to have been attacked by vampires. They'll lock him up in a padded room...

"Please, Tristan, you have to help me. Tell the Council that you're convinced that he won't talk. I'll turn myself over to the Council. I still have a few close friends there. I will pledge my life for his. If he talks, my life will be forfeit. But I need you to back me up in front of the Council."

"I want to help you, Mercy, I do," Tristan said. "But I am not pledging my life for some Breather."

"You don't have to," I said quickly. "I'll do all the pledging. You just vouch for my convictions. Tell them that you agree with me, that Nick is not a threat. Just back me up, please."

"And you'll abide by whatever punishment the Council hands down?"

"As long as that punishment doesn't involve Nick in any way, yes, I'll abide by it."

"Even if they sentence you to death?"

"Yes."

"And if the Council does demand Nick's death?"

I gripped my bokken tightly and raised it to Tristan's eye level. "I will not allow you or anyone else to harm him. And anyone who tries to, will pay the ultimate price. So, how badly to you want him dead?"

"Okay, okay," Tristan said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture, "you've convinced me. I'll help you with the Council."

"Thank you," I said stiffly, not accustomed to feeling, let alone, expressing, gratitude.

"Okay, Mercy, right now we need to get out of here. This isn't the best hiding place and I'm not sure I'm the only one who's been sent to find you."

"Right," I agreed. "Uh, there's a low-life trussed up in the back of the pick-up. Do you think you could deal with him, while I try and talk to Nick?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of it," he said, with a feral smile. "I'm feeling a little peckish anyway."

After Tristan had left out the back door, I went to the couch and knelt on the floor. It took several minutes to wake Nick and when I finally did manage to coax his eyes open, he seemed to be having some trouble focusing them on my face. I lightly traced the outline of his cheekbone with my fingertips, trying to hold his attention.

"Nick, Honey, I have to leave, but don't worry, I'll make sure your friends find you," I said. He simply stared at me, obviously not entirely following my words. "You'll be alright until they get here."

Seeing his eyes starting to drift closed again, I stood and retrieved my cell phone from my purse. Flipping it open, I punched the number to dial Capt. Brass' cell phone. I had programmed the number into my phone early on in the investigation.

After only a couple of rings, I heard the detective's static-y voice come on the line. Apparently he had caller ID, which was perfect for me, as I wouldn't have to say a word.

"Hello? Mercy, is that you?" I heard him ask, trying and failing, to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "Mercy, where are you? ... Nick?"

I could hear him speaking to someone else. "I've got Mercy on the line... No, she hasn't said anything. No one's speaking, but the line's still active. Quick, someone contact the cell phone company and get this line traced."

Checking to see that the batteries were fully charged, I left the phone on and laid it on the floor beside the couch. As I was doing so, the back door opened and Tristan entered.

"We shouldn't leave that truck here," he said. "We need to get rid of it and the body. We've left too many loose ends already."

"We can ditch it as we're leaving. The police should be on their way shortly."

"Then let's get the hell out of here."

I added a few logs to the fire and made sure the sleeping bag was tucked tightly around Nick. With a last kiss on his forehead, I gathered up anything that belonged to me and followed Tristan out of the cabin. While he drove his car, I drove the truck. We returned to the highway and continued on deeper into the mountains.

We drove for several miles, until we came to a long, dark stretch of road with no sign of houses, cabins, or other human habitation. To the right of the highway, the ground dropped away sharply, ending in a shallow, pine-filled gulley. Seeing Tristan's brake lights come on in front of me, I abruptly cranked the steering wheel, sending the truck careening to the right. I crashed through the metal guardrail and the truck tumbled down the steep embankment. It eventually came to rest against a cluster of tall pines at the bottom of the gulley.

Being a vampire, I was unharmed by the crash. Opening the driver's door, I hauled the dead body of Uncle Ted over from where it had landed in a heap on the floor of the passenger side. With some difficulty, I got him situated behind the wheel. Climbing out of the truck, I took a pack of matches from my pocket. Ripping a strip of shirt off the dead man, I stuck one end of the strip into the gas tank and lit it with a match.

Stepping back quickly, I started clambering back up the steep embankment. I hadn't gotten far before I heard the gas tank ignite. The explosion was rather anti-climactic, muffled by all the surrounding trees and the fact that the tank had been almost empty, but the resultant fire still spread to consume the rest of the vehicle quite nicely.

As I neared the top of the rise, Tristan gave me a hand up the rest of the way. We climbed into his car and headed back the way we had come. Three or four hours later, we heard the unmistakable sound of two helicopters passing overhead. Later, as we were merging onto I-95, we passed a small convoy of police cars, lights flashing like beacons in the darkness. In the midst of the patrol cars, I noted a couple of the CSI mobile lab units. They streaked past us without a second glance in our direction. Tristan and I continued on, making our way towards California and the nearest airport.

To be continued...

Author's note: Sorry, it took so long to get this chapter out, but I was out of town for a few days. On a completely separate note, for those who saw the most recent episode: What the hell is up with that damn moustache? I'm sorry, but that has so got to go! He looked way too much like Inspector Clouseau. Not a good look on him! Although I did love Warrick's Moustache Boy line.


	9. Chapter 9

11/13/05

THOSE WHO HUNT THE NIGHT

Chapter 9

"Yo, Stokes, you're not flirtin' with my wife, are you?"

"I keep trying, but she keeps insisting that she's a happily married woman," Nick said, with a cheeky grin at Warrick, who stood just outside the partially opened curtain surrounding Nick's hospital bed.

"Damn straight she is," the other man said emphatically, stepping closer to the woman in question and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, eww, there are people trying to convalesce, here," Nick said in mock disgust. "Do you mind?"

Ignoring this comment, Warrick asked his wife, "So, are you ready to kick him out yet?"

Tina smiled at the easy banter between the two men. "Well, his blood pressure is back to normal," she said, slipping the blood pressure cuff off Nick's arm and rolling it up. "He's still nursing a concussion, so he's not cleared to return to work yet, but I think we can send him home."

"Yes!" After spending over 24 hours in Desert Palms Hospital, Nick was definitely ready to go home. He had seen more than enough of this place, in the course of his career, to last him a lifetime.

"Oh, here, I brought you some clothes from your house," Warrick said, holding up a small gym bag.

"Oh, thanks, man, you're a life saver."

Nick accepted the bag and slid off the bed. Remembering that his hospital gown was open in the back and that there was a lady present, he quickly reached around and pulled the flaps firmly closed. He started inching toward the room's bathroom, all the while making sure to keep his backside turned away from Tina.

"You do realize that I was the one who took your clothes off when they first brought you in," she said, with a smug smile.

"I did not need to know that," Nick said, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"Yeah, neither did I," Warrick agreed.

Tina rolled her eyes and gave her head a shake... men.

After Nick had disappeared into the bathroom, Warrick turned to her and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"Your friend is very charming, kind of cute, too. Is that why I'm only just now meeting him?"

"No, no, I just didn't want to overwhelm you with my family and my friends all at once."

"Oh, okay. Anyway, the answer is yes, he can stay with us."

"Great, I'll ask him."

Glancing around and seeing that they were as alone as they could be in a non-private hospital room, the curtain currently screening them from the other patients, Warrick pulled his wife closer and they started kissing.

"Hey, Nick, we just stopped by to see if- Oh, uh, sorry, Warrick, we didn't know you were going to be here," Catherine said, smiling uncomfortably at the couple. Sara stood behind her, grinning over the older woman's shoulder.

The couple quickly stepped apart. "Oh, hey, guys," Warrick said, returning the awkward grins. "Uh, Tina, this is Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle." He gestured to the respective woman. "Sara, Cath, this is Tina."

The three women exchanged their banal pleasantries. "So, where's Nick?" Catherine asked, changing the subject as quickly as she politely could.

"Uh, he's in the bathroom, getting dressed."

"Oh, well, we just stopped by to see if he needed a ride home, but I guess you've already got that covered. And better than us, we didn't even think to stop and get him some clothes."

The four people stood and looked at each other awkwardly, until Nick rejoined them a few minutes later, now wearing a pair of jeans and a maroon, long-sleeved t-shirt. He was still a bit pale and he had to sit back down on the bed as soon as he reached it. He took a deep breath and steadied himself against the head board as he nodded his greetings to Sara and Catherine.

"Are you okay?" Tina asked.

"Yeah, just a little dizzy."

"Well, that's to be expected. You're going to be dealing with that for a while yet."

"So, can I go home now?" he asked.

"Not until Dr. Webber reviews your chart and looks you over one last time. He should be on his way."

"Listen, Nick," Catherine spoke up, "Sara and I just stopped by to see if you needed a ride, but Warrick's obviously got that covered. So, we're going to take off. We've got a hot case we're working on. We'll check up on you later, at home."

After the two women had left, Tina asked, "What was up with the red-head? She seemed a little jumpy. Is she always like that?"

Warrick gave a shrug. "Oh, I don't know. She was probably just distracted by her 'hot case'."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'm going to go find Dr. Webber and see what's taking him so long."

Warrick gave his wife's hand a squeeze as she was leaving the room. He turned back to his friend, who was still hanging onto the head board with a death grip.

"You okay?" Warrick asked.

"Just feeling a little nauseated."

"Well, why don't you lie down for a while? It sounds like the doctor's going to be a few minutes at least."

"Good idea, I think I'll do that."

Nick lay back against the numerous pillows and sighed heavily, closing his eyes, trying to block out the slightly spinning room.

Warrick cleared his throat awkwardly. "Listen, Nick, Grissom sent a crime scene clean-up crew to your house, to clean up all the blood and stuff, but the two windows are still broken. Greg and I put up some plywood, so they're covered, but it's going to be a few days before someone can come out and get them replaced. Look, why don't you come and stay with Tina and I until that's done."

"In the Honeymoon House of Love?" Nick said, opening his eyes and grinning up at his friend. "No, I don't think so, but thanks anyway, Bro."

"Oh, come on, man, it's not like that. Our apartment has an extra bedroom."

"Does Tina know that you're offering to let your friend camp out in her apartment?"

"Our apartment and, yes, she agrees with me. You shouldn't be alone right now. You may be well enough to be released from the hospital, but that doesn't mean you should be all alone. I mean, you can't even stand up for a few minutes without getting dizzy."

"I'll be fine, Warrick, I've had concussions before."

"Yeah, and with every successive concussion, the recovery time is longer. And this one was pretty bad."

"Have you been taking pre-med classes in your abundant spare time or did your wife tell you all that?"

Warrick smiled. "Okay, yeah, Tina told me all that, but it doesn't change anything. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'll be fine, really, but thank you anyway. Look, I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed. If all of you want to fuss over me, you can come to me. I want to go home."

"Okay, okay, we just wanted to make sure you knew you had that option."

"Duly noted and thank you."

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As he approached Nick's house, Grissom rehearsed his words in his mind. After the younger man's kidnapping, Gil had decided to try turning over a new leaf, to be a more responsive supervisor and a better friend to his team. But just because he was making the effort to be more sociable, didn't mean he was anymore comfortable with the role. He was still essentially feeling his way.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the newly repaired door. After a few minutes, it opened and Grissom found himself facing the diminutive figure of Ruth Neussbaum. The little, white-haired woman smiled invitingly at the investigator.

"Why, it's Mr... Grissom, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, that's correct," he said, returning her smile. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Neussbaum."

"It's so nice to see you again as well." The woman stood staring up at the investigator for a moment. "Tell me, Mr. Grissom, are you Jewish?"

"Uh, no, ma'am, I'm not."

"Oh, that's too bad. I have a younger sister who's also a widow..."

"Oh, really? Uh, is Nick here?"

The woman's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "This isn't an official visit, is it? After all, Nicholas was only released from the hospital two days ago."

"No, ma'am, this isn't an official visit. I just wanted to see how he's doing. Is he awake?"

"Yes, he is. Please, come in."

Stepping into the house, Grissom immediately saw Nick sprawled comfortably on his couch. He was wrapped in a thick, blue blanket and was propped up by a couple of pillows. He looked tired, but fairly alert. His color was definitely better than it had been when they'd first found him in the cabin in the mountains. He gave his supervisor a wan smile in greeting.

Having obviously appointed herself hostess, Ruth indicated a nearby chair and invited Gil to sit. "I just made some soup for Nicholas. Would you like some, Mr. Grissom?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Neussbaum, I'm fine. I don't need anything. I just wanted to chat with Nick for a few minutes."

"Very well, since you are his supervisor," the woman said magnanimously. "But don't you dare tire him out! He's been through enough already. He's doesn't need to be interrogated."

Gil tried very hard not to smile at the protectiveness in the little woman's tone. She wasn't angry with him, yet, but she was making it very clear to him that she could be, if he didn't obey her commands.

"No, ma'am," he said quickly. "I'm not here to interrogate Nick, just to ask him a few questions."

"Mrs. Neussbaum, it's alright," Nick spoke up. "I've slept most of the morning. I think I can handle it."

"Well, alright, I'll just go on home and watch my soaps. I'll come back and check on you in a little while. Now, eat your soup, dear, before it gets cold." The woman gave him a pat on the cheek and left the house.

"Well, she seems to be taking her self-appointed role of mother hen very seriously," Gil commented with a smile.

"Oh, very," Nick agreed. "She chased Greg and Sara away yesterday, because she thought Greg was acting too 'excitable'. I tried to explain that that's just how Greg is, but she wouldn't listen."

"Well, I'll make an effort to curb my excitability."

Nick smiled at the extreme unlikelihood of Grissom getting overexcited about anything not directly related to a case. "So, what's up?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed, but it looks like you're in pretty good hands. So, are you able to keep anything solid down?"

"Not yet. I can manage soup, that's about it."

"I know earlier, you said that you didn't remember anything after Vero attacked you. I was wondering, have any of those memories come back at all?"

"Uh, no, they haven't. My doctor says that I may have post-concussion syndrome. He said that some memory loss is not uncommon. I may eventually recover those memories or I may not. I just have to wait and see."

Grissom noticed that while Nick spoke of this, he kept his eyes downcast, staring at his hands, which were busily twisted the edge of the blanket. Gil didn't know why, but he was positive that Nick was lying to him. The younger man did remember what had happened to him, how he had come to be in that cabin in the mountains, but he was obviously not going to share this information with anyone else. Gil sighed dejectedly, realizing that he would simply have to accept this.

"Have you heard from Mercy at all?" he asked abruptly.

That brought the dark eyes up and was that fear he saw in them? Fear for whom? Or was it simply concern?

"No, why?" Nick asked.

"I was just wondering. She seems to have disappeared. The New Orleans field office claims they have no records indicating that she ever actually worked there and no one remembers her. Quantico says that she's on an extended leave of absence. I just thought she might have contacted you. I had gotten the impression that the two of you had been intimate."

"I haven't heard from her," Nick answered evasively. "Is she in trouble?"

"No, not necessarily. Brass and I would like to talk to her. It was her cell phone that led us to you. How did it get in that cabin, if she wasn't there as well? And if she was there, why didn't she just tell us where you were? And why did she take you from your house in the first place?"

Again the dark eyes dropped. "I don't know," Nick whispered. "I don't even remember her being here at all that night."

Grissom nodded. There was a part of him that wanted to grab the younger man by the shoulders and shake him, demand that he tell the truth, the whole truth. But another part of him thought that perhaps it was best for everyone that Nick kept silent. As much as Gil had tried to deny it and as much as he'd tried to come up with a better theory, even he had to admit to himself, that Greg's wild theory about vampires was the only one that answered all of their questions.

Grissom would never admit out loud that he was seriously considering this theory and certainly never to Greg, even though he knew the young man hadn't been entirely serious when he'd proposed it. It went against everything Gil believed in, or didn't believe in. It directly contradicted the principals of Occam's Razor, given two equally predictive theories, choose the simpler. The problem was, the simpler theories, just didn't quite add up, the way the vampire theory did.

What was the scientist to do when all of his science and logic failed him? Did he give in and embrace the wild, untried theory? Wasn't this how the ideas of Chaos Theory and the Butterfly Effect were born? Or did he continue to plod on, pushing himself relentlessly toward an answer which made him more comfortable?

Gil looked over at Nick, who was still not meeting his eyes and was methodically tearing at the fuzz on the blanket across his lap. Abruptly Gil realized how selfish he was being. This wasn't simply about his quest for the truth, his desire to have his questions answered. There was Nick to consider. It was obvious that the younger man knew more than he was telling and it was also obvious that he didn't want to share his secrets. If Gil continued to dig for the truth, what would it do to Nick?

Nick had already been through so much and he seemed to be getting his life back together. What right did Gil have to disturb that hard-won peace of mind? None, he realized. He had no right whatsoever. For Nick's sake, he would leave this mystery alone. After all, in essence, the case was solved. DNA had confirmed the body in the morgue was Jimmy Vero. His reign of terror was at an end. They had gotten Nick back, reasonable intact. Were the little, nagging unanswered questions really all that important in the long run? No, they weren't and Grissom would let them remain unanswered.

"Well, I guess, I'll just have to let my questions go," Gil said, standing. "I'm sorry if I've brought up anything painful."

"No, everything's fine," Nick said quickly and Gil didn't miss the brief flash of relief that passed over the younger man's face.

"Well, I should probably go. I wouldn't want Mrs. Neussbaum to have to chase me away, too."

"No, you don't. She may be small, but she can be quite the battleaxe when she puts her mind to it."

"I believe it." Gil reached over and gave Nick's shoulder an awkward squeeze. "Get some sleep."

"I will. Thanks for stopping by."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Nick was sitting on his couch, watching television. The novelty of being home in the evening had worn off very quickly and he was starting to get bored. He had slept on and off most of the day, so at the moment, he wasn't tired. But he couldn't really do anything. If he stood up for more than a few minutes, he got dizzy and had to sit or lie down again. He also couldn't read for more than a few minutes before the words started to jumble together and he got a splitting headache. It was incredibly frustrating.

About all he could do was sit and watch television and he was sick of that. Even the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet had temporarily lost their appeal to him. He wanted to get out of his house. He wanted to be doing something, working, anything that would occupy his mind and stop his thoughts from dwelling on Mercy.

Nick knew that Grissom hadn't entirely believed him when he'd said he didn't remember anything that happened to him, but he hadn't been entirely lying. There were large gaps in his memory and other parts that were only hazily remembered. He vividly remembered Vero attacking him, but things got a little questionable after that.

He had a fuzzy memory of seeing Mercy and Vero fighting, of the two moving in unnatural ways, too fast, too fluid, too... everything. But he had already sustained the concussion at this point; perhaps this had affected his vision. The next thing he remembered with any clarity was he and Mercy sitting in her vehicle at what he thought was a rest area. He remembered that she had seemed very anxious and out of sorts. All he remembered feeling was incredibly cold.

The next thing he remembered was being at last warm and comfortable, lying on a soft surface. But he also remembered that the warmth had not brought with it a feeling of safety. In fact, he remembered being frightened, but of what, he wasn't certain... Mercy? She had made him an offer he couldn't accept and this had angered her. But what had the offer been? He remembered that it had had something to do with life and death.

He had a very vague memory, or perhaps it was just an impression, that another person had been present at some point. He thought Mercy and this person had argued. He very hazily remembered Mercy saying good-bye to him and nothing more. When he awoke in Desert Palms Hospital, it was with an unshakable feeling that he should not tell anyone anything he remembered after Vero had attacked him. He had no idea where this feeling had come from, but he had obeyed it without a second thought.

Now he was left trying to piece together these vague, fragmented memories into something cohesive and whole. He wasn't having much success and it was irritating him to no end, like an itch at the back of his brain.

He had felt a connection with Mercy and he had trusted her, trusted her enough to take her to his bed. He hadn't felt comfortable enough with anyone to do that in a long time. And yet, he had the feeling that she had betrayed that trust somehow, but that that betrayal had been prompted by love, which didn't make any sense. How could someone betray another out of love? It left him unsure of how he should feel about the missing FBI agent. Should he be angry with her or should he be mourning her loss? He honestly wasn't sure. And why had she so abruptly left anyway?

He was startled out his funk by the sound of a knock on his door. Hoping that it was one of his friends come to distract him from his obsessive thoughts, he stood and made his way a bit unsteadily toward the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw a blond man in a black suit standing on his doorstep. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but Nick couldn't remember why that should be so.

Apparently aware that he was being observed, the man smiled slightly and reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. He held up a black wallet and flipped it open. Nick saw that it was an FBI ID. He couldn't make out the name, but he was fairly certain that the man was here about Mercy. Nick unlocked and opened the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Stokes. I'm Special Agent Tristan O'Bannon. I'm a friend of Mercy's. May I come in?" the man asked.

Nick said nothing, but stepped to the side and gestured for the man to enter. In the living room, the two men sat down opposite each other, Nick on the couch, Tristan on the chair.

"Where is Mercy?" Nick asked, getting right to the point.

"Well, she's in a bit of trouble. She annoyed the Council and now she's being punished."

"The Council?"

"Oh, sorry, the Vampire Council."

"Right..." Nick knew these words should be disturbing him a lot more than they were. Some of those fragmented memories started to click into place. "How is she being punished? Is she alright?"

"Well, no, she's not alright, but don't worry, she will have served her time in about a year. Let's just say that she's being incarcerated and leave it at that. She wouldn't want me to go into too much detail. But she wanted me to come here and tell you that her offer still stands. Do you remember her offer?"

"Yes," Nick said softly. It was all starting to come back to him. He remembered the offer and he remembered why he had refused it.

"Good. She wants you to know that if you change your mind, she'll be more than happy to help you out, after her year is over, of course. Now, if you should happen to change your mind before the year is up, I will be happy to take her place. But I rather think you'd be more comfortable with her."

"Yeah," Nick said quickly. "But that's it? That's all you came here for? To give me that message?"

"Mercy also wanted me to assure you that you are in no danger. Provided that you do not disclose anything you witnessed or heard during the last few days, the Council will take no action against you."

"Okay, no problem. No one would believe me anyway."

"Exactly," Tristan said with a smile. Once again, he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and took out a business card. He handed this to Nick. "This is for you."

The card was made of heavy, black stock, with the printing stamped in silver foil. There was simply a phone number and a name printed on it. The number was very long, obviously an overseas number. The name was Rachel. No last name was given.

"Who's Rachel?" Nick asked.

"A friend," Tristan said, with a vague shrug. "If, for any reason, you wish to contact Mercy, or even myself, call that number and ask for Rachel. She'll make sure your message is delivered."

"Okay."

"Very well, then, my business here is concluded. Good luck to you, Mr. Stokes." Without any further pleasantries, the blond man stood, straightened his suit and left the house.

Nick sat where he was and simply stared into space for a long time, trying to comprehend this incredibly strange visit. Remembering the card still in his hand, he stared down at it. He wasn't familiar enough with overseas phone numbers to recognize what country the number would connect to. He wondered if perhaps Archie could trace it's origins at the lab.

What am I thinking? he abruptly asked himself. I don't want anything to do with these... people. I don't want any part of this. Standing, he crushed the card in his hand and tossed it into a nearby waste basket. Suddenly feeling exhausted, he decided to go to bed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Opening his eyes, Nick found himself once more lying in his Plexiglas box, surrounded by the eerie, green glow. He was aware of a curious sensation of weightlessness and he turned his head to the side. Instead of seeing the press of dirt and rock against the plastic sides of his prison, he saw only blackness. He turned to the other side and saw the same thing. All around him, there was only impenetrable darkness, as if he and his box were floating in a sea of blackest ink. But floating where?

Even as he was pondering this, he felt something brush up against the edge of the box, somewhere near his feet. Lifting his head as high as he could, he just caught sight of something pale 'swimming' away to disappear in the blackness. His heart was suddenly pounding loudly in his ears and he looked around him, both hoping and dreading to see more of the mysterious pale things.

While he was looking off to his left, something large thumped into the right side of the box, making it shudder. He turned to look and immediately recoiled in horror at the thing pressed against the box, inches from his face. It was a pale and distortedly puffed face, neither recognizably male nor female. It looked very much like the bloated corpses of drowning victims. The eyes were dark and horribly vacant. The mouth was open, revealing the blackened stumps of teeth. Long, white tendrils of hair floated out around the head like a living nimbus or clawing tentacles.

The face pressed closer to the box, flattening the nose grotesquely against the side. The mouth moved as though trying to speak, but no sound issued forth. Pale, long-nailed hands appeared beside the head and also pressed against the box. They began scrabbling and clawing at the box, obviously trying to find a way to open it...

Nick awoke with a start and quickly sat up, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the wave of nausea which had accompanied his abrupt movements. He ran a shaking hand over his face and tried to force his heart rate back to normal.

It had been a long time since he'd dreamt of the box. The floating corpse face had been a new twist. Was this some side effect of the concussion? He had never heard of people suffering from nightmares with head trauma, but maybe it was something the doctors didn't like to advertise.

Slightly calmer now, he forced himself to think back to his nightmare and try to dispassionately analyze it, just as his therapist had taught him. Dr. Carlyle had told him of the theory that dreams were simply our mind's way of entertaining itself while our bodies slept. The mind replayed images from our thoughts, reviewed events of our day, and sometimes, gave form to our lingering fears.

Nick knew from previous sessions, that for him, the box represented helplessness. It seemed fairly obvious that the corpse face represented death. Thus analyzed, the nightmare could be interpreted as a manifestation of Nick's fear of death and his helplessness to fight it. Realizing this didn't really make him feel any better. Of course he feared death, didn't everyone to some degree? And of course he couldn't prevent it, no one could. Everything died eventually. It was one of the supreme laws of nature... Or was it?

Climbing out of bed, he padded barefoot, out to the living room. Flipping on the overhead light, he went to the waste basket and rifled through it. Finding the small, crumpled bit of black cardboard, he took it into the spare bedroom. He used this room as an office and there was an antique, roll-top desk in one corner. His parents had bought him the desk for Christmas one year.

Turning on the lamp that sat on top of the desk, he pushed back the slated top. Seating himself in front of the desk, he carefully smoothed the crumpled card flat on the desk top. He sat for a long time, staring at it. Was this his means to cheat death, to fight back and take control of his destiny? Did he have the courage to take advantage of this offer? Would it even be courage to do so? Or would it be cowardice? Sitting here, alone in the shadows of his house, having just awoken from a nightmare about death, he wasn't feeling quite so firm in his previous convictions.

Picking up the lamp with his left hand, he picked up the key he kept hidden underneath, with his right hand. The key unlocked a small drawer of the desk, where he kept important papers. Unlocking the drawer, he slid it open and dropped the business card inside. He closed the drawer and locked it again. Returning the key to its home, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

He was once again exhausted, but he was feeling much calmer now than he had a few minutes ago. He would decide what to do with the card later, or maybe never. Perhaps just knowing that it was there, that he had an option, an out, if you will, would be enough to help see him through the uncertain, darkness that lay ahead of him. Opening his eyes, he stood, turned off the lamp and went back to bed.

THE END


End file.
